What We Call Bonding
by HIGH and MIGHTY COLOR
Summary: Haytham and Connor never really got a chance to get to know one another. While I'm sure chasing and killing people together will tell you a lot about a person, it's important to experience calmer more controlled settings.
1. Parties Aren't All Frivolous

Haytham was growing steadily more annoyed. He had been waiting for at least an hour and he was starting to get more than a little peeved. Haytham Kenway was not used to being ignored, questioned or kept waiting, and yet these were several things he found his newest company doing quite often. He slipped a hand into his waistcoat and pulled out a small pocket watch, he then clicked it open to scowl at the time that greeted him. He snapped it shut before sliding it back into his pocket, turned to the closed door, raised his hand and knocked.

"We're going to be _late_, Connor." He spoke in a strict tone that he hoped conveyed the urgency of the situation. He wasn't sure why his son was taking so damn long, but it was on his last nerve. Haytham folded his arms, and waited but was met with only silence. Part of him wondered if his son had simply climbed out the window and run off, but then he heard a slight shuffle behind the wooden door, and Haytham exhaled heavily through his nose. "What the hell are you doing in there that is taking so long? Do you need help?"

There was a short silence before he heard an agitated snarl from the other side of the door. "No, I do not need help."

"Are you having trouble?"

"I'm _fine,_ father."

The way his son said the word 'father' always had a sort of bite to it, and part of Haytham both seethed and flinched at it. Though it was to be expected, he supposed. Besides, if Connor were to suddenly take up calling him 'Haytham' or god forbid something less formal like 'Pa', Haytham had a feeling he would collapse into a fit. He folded his arms and took a step away from the door. "Then open the door."

There was another stubborn silence on the other end. "No."

Haytham rolled his eyes, and let his arms fall back to his side before shaking his head. "Fine, then I'm coming in."

"What? No!"

Before anything else could happen, Haytham grabbed the doorknob and twisted, pushing the door open forcefully before his son could barricade, or lock it. He looked over at Connor who was in the middle of reaching towards the door to do one of those things, and then looked him up and down as his son straightened himself. "What's all the fuss about, then? They fit nicely. I thought they would."

Connor fumed at the comment, his face turning bright red, as he folded his arms, looking extraordinarily put off. "Its ridiculous."

"Nonsense, you look fine." Haytham walked over to the native man standing in the middle of the room, who was wearing a dark blue dress coat, with a similarly colored vest underneath, white knee breeches and brown leather shoes. Haytham looked him up and down again and then frowned. "Now wait a moment, where's the collar?"

"That … frilly thing?"

"Yes. Where is it?"

Connor arched a brow in confusion and pointed to the white piece of cloth that was still draped over the chair. Haytham sighed and walked over, picking it up and then walked back over to his son, who instantly took a step back. "No. I am NOT wearing that."

"Well you can't go to a party with that… necklace showing. What are those? Bear teeth?"

"They are claws."

"Come here, I'll show you how to tie it." Haytham walked over again and before Connor could protest, wrapped it around his neck and began tying it properly. Connor just scowled at him.

"What is the point of this? Even if I wear this, I am not going to blend in."

"Blending in isn't the point."

"I thought we were going to this… event… to kill someone."

"Yes well, I might have exaggerated that."

Connor's agitation and anger was quickly replaced with a look of disbelief. "Exaggerated? What do you mean, exaggerated? If we are not going there to kill someone then why ARE we going there?"

"It wasn't entirely a lie." Haytham said, tucking the ruff under Connor's dress coat. "We are going there to get information on the target."

"So why am _I_ going? Why can't you do that on your own?"

"Because I'm your father, and I said so."

"That excuse is getting a little worn, father." Connor said, adding his usual spiteful tone. Then he was quiet a moment as Haytham continued to straighten him out. He fixed his father with a suspicious glare. "Is this some sort of plot to make me 'see the error of my ways'?"

"Don't be foolish. Besides, you said you wanted to know about our target. This way, you can acquire it first hand. There, now you're ready. How do you feel?" Haytham took a step back.

Connor looked down at himself, scrutinizing the clothes. "… Like I am being eaten by my own clothing. It is no wonder none of the regulars can fight, if they all have to wear these restrictive things."

Haytham waved his hand, and turned on his heel. "You look fine. Come on, let's be off."

He could practically hear Connor scowling at him, but he couldn't quite hide the smile that crept onto his lips when he heard his son follow him anyways. As much as he complained, he was probably not entirely opposed to the notion of spending time with his father when they weren't running for their lives, or fighting for them. And honestly, though he would never voice it aloud, Haytham was slightly excited by that idea as well.

* * *

"Remind me."

"Hmm?"

"How did you talk me into this?" Connor folded his arms across his chest, and frowned up at the tall somewhat ornate building.

"It will be a good experience for you." His father spoke up without even sparing him a sideways glance. "Learning how to behave at social events is key in any life, not just civilian." Haytham waved his hand in a circle and Connor gave his eyes a turn upwards in contempt. "And I feel a… well a sort of obligation to be the one to teach you these things. I doubt Achilles ever took you to one of these."

"He thought they were a frivolous waste of time, and so do I." Connor's words fell on deaf ears as his father started walking up the steps towards the building, and Connor reluctantly followed.

"An atmosphere like this might do us a world of good as well. Something relaxed like this might help us get over a few of our differences. We didn't start out on the best of terms, and I realize the first impression I made could have been… handled a bit differently."

"Which impression would that be, father?" Connor asked as he climbed the stairs. "The one where you had me sentenced to death, or the one where you pinned me to the ground and tried to stick a blade in my throat?"

"Both." His father's reply was curt and his voice strained.

"Or you could be talking about years prior, where you framed me for the beginning of a massacre that Charles Lee-"

"Yes Connor, I see your point." His father spoke through clenched teeth, and then suddenly turned around, narrowing his eyes at his son. "Now, wait a moment, that was you?"

Connor's eyebrows flattened. "Yes."

"Hm. I suppose I should have expected that." Haytham turned back around to climb the last few stairs. "Did Achilles put you up to that?"

"Yes."

"I figured as much."

"I wanted to go after you."

Haytham stopped again and looked down at his son. "Oh."

It was silent after that, and a few other people passed them on the way up the stairs, and Haytham's eyes did not leave his son. Connor shifted a bit, feeling even more uncomfortable under his father's scrutinizing gaze. He looked about, avoiding eye contact and then motioned past the older man to the door. "Are we going in?"

"Hm? Oh. Yes." Haytham turned around and walked to the door behind him, and Connor followed close behind him.

"You're angry now." He accused softly.

"I'm not angry, now quiet."

"You are. I can tell."

"You can't tell." Haytham turned around. "What on earth would I have to be angry about anyhow?"

"The fact that I wanted to kill you."

"Now that would be highly hypocritical of me. I knew you wanted to kill me, and we are not going to discuss this now." Haytham turned to him, shrugging off his overcoat and taking his hat off, handing it to a man who was holding his hands out eagerly to take it. "Come along, then." He reached forwards and put a hand on Connor's shoulder. "We have a party to attend."

Connor sighed and allowed himself to be steered to an arch way that lead to a large set of stairs. He found himself overlooking a large ballroom, heavily decorated and filled with people wearing all manner of fancy clothing. He found himself slightly awed by the sight, as he had been the first day Achilles had brought him into Boston. He looked over at his father who was still standing next to him, with his hand on Connor's shoulder. A short statured man with a white powdered wig approached them, his nose in the air. "Your names, sirs?"

Haytham turned to him. "Haytham Kenway. And this is my son, Connor Kenway."

Connor looked over at his father, his brow furrowing a bit, as the man turned to the crowd below and announced rather loudly. "Sirs Haytham and Connor Kenway."

He flinched visibly, and reached for the man mid sentence to silence him, when Haytham caught his arm, and began to pull him down the stairs. Connor gaped a bit as he was pulled and leaned in close. "Is allowing him to announce our presence really such a good idea?" He hissed.

"Relax, Connor. Our contact knows we're coming. Remember we're _not_ here to kill someone." Haytham whispered back. He let go of his son's wrist and they walked down the stairs. Before they reached the bottom, Haytham must have noticed the slightly puzzled and disconcerted look on his son's face. "Something the matter?"

"I've never been introduced as Connor Kenway." He said quietly, not looking up to make eye contact with his father.

"Then what have you been introducing yourself as all these years?" Haytham asked, a mildly amused tone to his voice.

"Connor."

"Connor what?"

"Just Connor."

"No last name?"

"I've never needed one." He looked up, scanning the room suspiciously. "Achilles decided to call me Connor and that was simply out of convenience."

Haytham stepped in front of him, holding up a hand. "Wait a moment. Achilles decided to call you Connor?"

Connor furrowed his brow in confusion. "Well it wasn't my idea." Haytham was silent for a moment after that and Connor's confusion melted away as he realized where this was going. "You don't know my real name."

"I thought Connor was your real name."

Connor smirked a little bit and shook his head. "I guess that's not too surprising. You probably only just recently found out about my existence anyways." He turned away from his father to look around the room, scanning it for their target.

"Well?"

"Well what?"

"What is your real name?"

Connor turned to his father, his eyebrow raised in suspicion. "Nothing you'll be able to pronounce."

"Tell me anyway."

"My name is Ratonhnhaké:ton."

Haytham's eyebrows furrowed. "Ra-dune-"

"Connor." He folded his arms, cutting him off before his father could get any further. "Do you see why it was more convenient?"

"Indeed I do."

Connor turned back to the party and looked around. "Now, we should find our target, and leave."

"Why the rush? It's a party. We ought to enjoy ourselves."

"I am not here to have fun."

"Nonsense. Why don't you go find some young lady and ask her to dance?"

"I don't dance."

"You don't? Or don't know how?"

"Both." Connor looked over just in time to catch the sly grin on his father's face and he took a step backwards. "Oh no. No. We are just here to get information. Nothing else."

"Don't be foolish. What kind of father would I be if I didn't teach you how to dance?"

"You had me sentenced to death, you tried to kill me, you didn't know my real name, you _owe _me."

"Indeed I do. And I shall repay you, by showing you how to do the waltz."

"No!"

* * *

(This was largely inspired by a picture on Deviantart, drawn by ~thunderjelly titled 'Frilly Son'.)


	2. There Are Some Similarities

Haytham could not say he was particularly surprised by the fact that he was not overly welcome aboard his son's ship, but he had at least expected a modicum of civility. The crew paid him hardly any attention, and on some occasions refused to even speak to him or acknowledge the fact he was even there when he spoke. Though he would take being ignored over the great rudeness that was given to him by the first mate, Robert Faulkner. When he had first come aboard, Robert had given him a look that could sour milk and had wasted no time in professing his dislike for the circumstances.

"I don't like having a Templar aboard." He had sneered. "I'm not sure what the captain's thinking, having you around.

Captain. Now there was a term he had never thought he would ever have to apply to his son. Granted he did not know a great deal about Connor, but he would never in his lifetime have guessed the boy knew how to sail a ship, let alone how to captain one. And he still wasn't sure he could. Haytham did not profess to have an over abundance of knowledge when it came to sailing, but he was almost certain that Connor didn't actually fully know what he was doing. Still they were almost a day into their journey, and they hadn't sunk or crashed into anything, so he supposed his son wasn't entirely incompetent.

Haytham looked up towards the night sky, from where he sat on the upper deck, and frowned before looking back down at his hat that he held in his hands. He flipped it over so the bottom side was facing upwards and ran a hand along the interior, and sighed before leaning back up against the mast he sat against. He had come up earlier to sit in quiet, away from Robert's jeers or the cold indifference of the crew. Most everyone else was below deck, probably asleep by now, and Haytham was mostly grateful for the solitude. He thought perhaps he would end up spending the entire evening alone, but that dream was shattered when someone spoke up from behind him.

"What are you doing up here?"

Haytham sat up and turned his head, peering around the mast. Connor stood there, scowling at him from underneath his tricorne hat. The captain's uniform looked foreign on him, and he'd have been lying if he said his son looked entirely comfortable in it. Haytham gave his son a small smirk before raising his hat, for Connor to see. "Just airing it out, a bit. It's still wet you know."

Connor stepped around to be in front of his father, and slowly seated himself on a cannon, before reaching up and pulling his own hat off, and setting it beside him. "Don't you have another?"

"I'm quite attached to this one." Haytham leaned back. "It's older than you are, you know." He looked down, turning it over again. "I've had it since before I came to the colonies."

"Why would you hold on to a hat for so long?"

"Sentiment, I suppose." Haytham frowned. "I nearly lost it, that night you tackled me into the docks." He said, looking back up at Connor, frowning. "Which, I hope you realize, was an incredibly reckless thing to do."

"You are still upset about that?" Connor raised an eyebrow.

"Of course I am." He huffed. "You could have killed us both."

"That is not true."

Haytham's eyebrows rose as he looked back over at his son who continued to stare at him, a deadly serious expression on his face. Haytham turned around and set his hat beside him. "Oh?" He leaned forwards towards his son. "Pray tell, how is that?"

"I tackled you first." Connor shrugged. "If there had been pavement or ground beneath us, you would have broken my fall."

The Templar grandmaster could do nothing but stare and blink at his son, dumbfounded. "I would have broken your fall." He repeated, blankly.

"Yes, so what you said was untrue." The boy continued. "It would not have killed us both. Just you."

It was quiet between them for a few moments, before Haytham burst into laughter. He raised a hand to his face and his shoulders shook as he continued to laugh, and through his hysterics he noticed Connor raise a hand to his mouth in order to hide a smile that was slowly forming on his lips and his shoulders hitched, ever so slightly.

"I am not joking." Connor affirmed, keeping his hand over his mouth, but he could not hide the smile from his eyes. "I was being serious. It is not funny."

Haytham laughed a few moments more before leaning onto his knees and wiping his eyes, allowing himself to catch his breath. "Oh, Connor. That was most likely the closest thing to a joke I have ever heard, and probably ever will hear you say."

"It was the truth." Connor said, the amusement not quite gone from his face.

"Of course it was." Haytham waved his hand. "Which is why I said it was the closest thing to a joke, I will get from you. My dear boy, you inherited many things from me, but my wit was not one of them."

The seriousness was back on Connor's face again. "You and I are nothing alike."

"Aren't we?" Haytham blinked up at him.

"No, we're not."

"Now, that's not true at all. I see many resemblances."

Connor's face was dark, and he looked as though he was ready to reach for his tomahawk at any second. "Like what?"

Haytham looked him over and then pointed. "You have your mother's eyes, that's true, but the rest of your face is undeniably Kenway."

The dark hatred that had twisted Connor's face into a scowl only moments ago was gone. The native man sat up straight again, frowning with confusion heavy in his features. "What?"

Haytham stood up, and walked over before reaching down and taking his son by the shoulders, and pulling him up to a standing position. "Look at yourself, honestly. You've got my exact, build." He said, clapping a hand on the side of his son's arm. "And…" He reached down and pulled Connor's hand up, before putting his own hand to his mouth and biting his glove off, and then pulling Connor's glove off by the fingertips. "Your mother's hands were much longer, and thinner." He said, holding his hand up side-by-side to Connor's to compare. "You've got the hands of an Assassin." He pinched his son's thumb between his own, and his forefinger. "These hands come from generations of using hidden blades, holding swords and pulling the triggers of guns."

Connor looked absolutely dumbfounded, and it was clear he didn't quite know what to say. He looked down at his hands a moment before looking back up at his father. "But you are a Templar."

"Hm?"

"Why did you say my hands come from generations of Assassins?"

"Oh." Haytham frowned. "Well you don't exactly come from a family of Templars, son. My father was an Assassin."

"He was?" Connor's eyes widened.

"Yes." Haytham looked away, his mind briefly lingering on memories of his father, and his home in Queen Anne's Square, before Connor's voice pulled him back to the present.

"Then why…?"

"Why am I a Templar?"

Connor stared at him a moment before nodding. Haytham took a deep breath and pulled his glove back over his fingers.

"I suppose you could say I defected. Though that is a very long story, for another time."

"But we-"

Haytham waved a hand in the air. "Another time, Connor. I promise one day I'll tell you the whole story." His thoughts went to his journal that sat on his desk in his quarters at Fort George. One day, indeed. He sighed, and ran a hand over the back of his neck before picking his hat up off the crate he had been sitting on. "Its late now, son. I'm going to turn in. You ought to do the same." He looked him up and down. "You are captain after all. You have responsibilities. Wouldn't want you falling asleep in the middle of a fight now would we?"

Connor scowled a little and pulled his own glove back on before reaching down and picking up his own hat. "Fine."

Haytham smiled, and turned to start walking away towards the hatch to the lower deck. He paused a moment and turned over his shoulder. "Goodnight then, son."

There was a brief silence before Connor looked up at him, a look Haytham couldn't quite decode on his face. "Goodnight, father."


	3. Being Reliable

"That is not what you plan on using to make a fire, is it?"

"Hm?"

Connor folded his arms, and nodded at the pile of leaves and wood that his father had gathered into a pile. "You are not planning on using that, for our fire, are you?"

"Well what other purpose would I be gathering dead twigs and leaves for, Connor?" Haytham stood up, sighing as he did and looking towards Connor with an exasperated expression. "Did you think I planned on sleeping on this?" He looked down at the pile he had gathered, and then knelt beside it. "This will burn just fine."

"Yes, and it will alert every solider for miles exactly where we are sleeping." Connor walked over and kicked the leaves away.

Haytham leaned back a little startled, and looked back up. "Wonderful, son. So what do you propose we do? Go without a fire?"

"No." Connor glared down at his father. "The things you brought will burn white smoke. That is much more visible at night, and will get us discovered within moments." He turned and folded his arms. "I will go and bring back something that will burn black smoke. It will be less noticeable in the dark." He could tell his father didn't really have much of an argument for that and nodded. Connor then slowly made his way into the night once more, getting ready to gather the necessary kindling.

Since he had started working with his father, he had found he had been most if not all of the work. He had been sent off with a wave of his father's hand into the night to complete some chore or another, more than he thought was fair, while the Templar sat and relaxed and probably contemplated new schemes of control. Still in this instance he could not complain. It was quite clear that his father had little to no knowledge of how to survive in the frontier, and if Connor wanted to make it through this excursion alive, he would have to take the lead.

It did give him a sort of sense of importance and validation, knowing his father was depending on him for survival. Ever since he had been young, Connor had done fine on his own. He hunted alone, he ate alone, he lived alone, and he had never needed anyone for anything before. Kanen'tó:kon had been his only company for years, and he had been the one to teach his friend, rescue him, and even take care of him on several occasions, despite Kanen'tó:kon being a few months older than he was.

Connor had never felt the need to rely on anyone. He never wanted to rely on anyone. He put his trust in his own two hands, and it had seen him through many trials. It did not mean he did not trust anyone else. He certainly trusted Achilles, and the people from the Homestead he knew would do anything for him. The friends he had made who had joined him in brotherhood, he knew would fight along side him in any circumstance. However, Connor did not lean on them. He gave the Assassins tasks of their own to complete, and they had helped him in the past, but he did not go into battle, expecting them to come and help him. He never fought expecting anyone to come to his rescue, or to save him if things got too bad.

Connor did not want to have to rely on anyone for his survival but himself. And his father was no exception. Haytham on the other hand seemed very comfortable letting Connor do all the work. He did not protest when Connor ran off to gather information, and had even sent him off to do just that, rather than see to it himself. He allowed Connor to take on foes in the battlefield while he ran off to who knows where. Connor collected most of the information, killed most of their enemies, and his father was content to sit back and let him.

"How relaxing a Templar's life must be." Connor grumbled, picking up another branch and adding it to the pile in his arms. He shook his head, and sighed before turning around and heading back towards the camp. He approached quietly, and his father looked up at him as he walked towards him and set the branches down in the circle he had carved out earlier for the fire.

"Will that even burn? It looks damp."

"It will be fine, father." Connor rolled his eyes, and knelt down beside it, reaching back for the flint he kept in his belt. He struck at it, watching the sparks fly across the kindling and finally watched as a fire slowly came to life, emitting plumes of black smoke.

"Well done, I suppose." Haytham raised an eyebrow, and leaned up against the stump he had claimed for himself.

Connor looked up at him, and settled into the debris of leaves and twigs on the forest floor and frowned into the fire again, not saying anything.

"Are you tired, Connor?"

He looked up again, glancing across the fire at his father. "What?"

Haytham glanced around the forest, and then looked back. "We're alright here, clearly. You ought to get some sleep, it's been three days, and I've seen you nod off maybe twice."

Connor looked away, again. It was true; he had hardly slept at all. His father had offered to take watch a few times, and allow him to rest, but Connor had refused. He had only allowed himself to nod off and sleep an hour or two when he was sure his father was also asleep, and when he was absolutely sure it was safe to do so. "I am fine, father. If you are tired, you should go to sleep."

"You're exhausting yourself, Connor. Go on and sleep. I will keep watch a while."

"I am not tired."

Haytham opened his mouth to argue it further, when a look of realization crossed his face. He nodded knowing, tilting his head back. "Oh, I see."

"What do you see, father?" Connor asked disinterestedly, raising his knee to his chest and resting his arm and chin on it, looking away.

"You think I'm going to stab you in the neck the second you fall asleep."

Connor turned his head sharply towards his father, and then snorted, relaxing again. "As if you could sneak up on me, old man. Even if I was asleep, I could hear you crashing through the foliage from a mile away." Truth be told, that was exactly what he was afraid of. His father had tried to kill him once, and he could not be absolutely sure he would not try again.

"You do realize, that by wearing yourself out so much, I would not need for you to be asleep. I could probably kill you right now, you're so exhausted."

"I am not exhausted." Connor protested. "And I am not afraid of you."

"I never said you were." Haytham shrugged. "The point is I am not going to kill you. You have my word, you are safe while I am here."

"Your word means nothing to me." Connor fixed his father with a threatening glare. "Your actions however, speak volumes. I have not forgotten, father, that we are enemies, though you seem to have."

"We have a truce, son."

"That does not mean I trust you." Connor glowered. "I do not trust you to 'keep me safe', nor do I need or want you to keep me safe."

"I was only concerned for your-"

"I do not want your concern. There is no need for you to be concerned for me for anything." Connor raised his head off his knee, and leaned forwards into the light of the fire, so his father could better see the seriousness in his features. "I do not need you. I have never needed you."

There was silence between them then, as Haytham stared on through the fire, slowly averting his gaze and Connor returned to staring at the fire. He watched it flicker and his eyes began to water from the light and the heat it gave off. He rubbed the back of his arm along his eyes and then looked up again, taking his eyes off the flames for a few moments. His eyes swept over Haytham, and he noticed then that he was being stared at. He raised an eyebrow, letting his confusion convey the question.

"You're being childish." His father accused, very suddenly.

"What?"

"You are behaving like a child." Haytham said, leaning back, and then he took up a slightly more mocking tone. "I do not want to go to bed, father, because I am afraid of monsters who want to kill me."

Connor blinked his eyes heavily, suddenly surprised by the direction the conversation had taken. "You admit to being a monster then?"

"I suppose in your eyes, I must be." Haytham sighed heavily. "Misguided and confused as you are."

"Is your plan to insult me to sleep?"

"I was hoping you would see reason."

"Are we still talking about sleep?" Connor furrowed his brow.

"You have nothing to gain by tiring yourself out, Connor." Haytham began to reposition himself. "And while it is interesting for me to be able to parent you and treat you like a child this late in your life, by telling you to go to bed while you pout and inform me you'd like to stay up, it is really in everyone's best interest if you rest."

The act of simply rolling his eyes was not enough, so Connor tilted his chin back with the action, turning his entire head with his eyes. He turned his head to the side and snorted loudly. "I do not-"

"I do understand, Connor."

Connor's attention snapped back to the Templar sitting opposite him. "Understand what?"

"That you feel the need to be independent. That you feel you have to prove you don't need anyone, and you can stand on your own without any… without me." Haytham settled against the stump again. "I understand all of that, so you need to understand this. No harm will come to you tonight."

"Why should I believe you?"

"Because I am promising you." His father met his gaze, and held it. "I promise, Connor, that you have nothing to worry about. You can sleep."

Connor stared at him for a few moments, before shifting rustling the leaves beneath him. Haytham sounded very sincere, and the more they talked about sleep, the better it was starting to sound. He wasn't quite sure if he could absolutely trust him or not, but he was starting to wonder.

"I promise nothing will hurt you." Haytham reiterated, and then he looked thoughtful for a moment. "Unless a pack of bears happens on our campsite. In which case, we'll likely be eaten."

Try as he might, Connor could not keep the smile from his lips, as he dipped his head. "Bears don't travel in packs. Besides, there are none in this area."

"Well you're safe then." His father paused again. "What about wolves?"

"There might be a few, but its not likely that they'll come near here."

"Well then. Unless you need to fear the family of beavers I caught of a glimpse of earlier…" He shrugged. "I can safely promise you, that you'll wake up again completely safe."

Connor lowered his head, again and examined the ground to his left, which was starting to look more inviting by the second. He looked back to his father, who continued to stare at him, and then he sighed. "Very well… Wake me in a few hours. And I will keep watch then."

"As you wish."

He slowly lowered himself to the ground and laid his head down on the crook of his arm and he tucked his hand behind his head. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, to reassure himself. It felt good to close his eyes finally, and was actually fairly peaceful to listen to the sound of the fire and the nightlife. It felt nice to not have to be on high alert, and to relax, which it felt like he hadn't done in years. He smiled a little to himself as he slowly surrendered to sleep.

Maybe it wasn't so bad. Relaying on someone else from time to time.


	4. Honor Your Parents

Connor had been fully aware that the Templars were, and basically always had been better equipped than the Assassins were. They had better numbers, better finances and better resources and they had always had quite an advantage. So when Haytham had fallen short on contacts this had come as quite a shock to Connor. No matter what the situation, his father had always had someone conveniently keeping tabs on whomever or whatever they were tracking down next. In this case, the two of them were searching out a man who had been playing both sides of the field in several respects. He had a habit of showing up under the pretense of friendship, and then robbing his victim's blind. Connor wasn't quite sure how he had been roped into helping his father catch and kill this man, as he was unsure how his father convinced him to do most things, but he had already committed, and there was no backing out now.

However, it was starting to frustrate him, especially since their last four leads had been dead ends and false starts, and his father apparently had no new information to offer up.

"Nothing?" He growled as his father paced back and forth in the small room; he had rented for the two of them in New York. "Not one of your contacts has anything useful to say." He repeated, flatly.

"Well my contacts are few and far between now, thanks to someone." His father turned on him, motioning to Connor.

The Assassin rolled his eyes and folded his arms. "While I am pleased to learn how easy it is to topple your information network, in this particular instance, it presents a problem." He ignored Haytham's incredulous snort, and put a hand to his chin in thought. "Very well, I suppose I can ask one of my contacts if they have heard anything."

This caught Haytham's attention as he turned, raising an eyebrow at his son. "One of _your _contacts? You have contacts?"

Connor returned his arms to their folded position on his chest, picking his words carefully in his head. "There have been several people who I have met, who have felt the… oppression… of Templars more than others. They had heard or seen that I tended to get results in situations like theirs and sought me out, to ask my help in taking care of their problems. Afterwards, they wanted to join my cause." That was about as easily as he could explain it. "So yes, father, I have contacts."

"You have other Assassins."

"In so many words, yes." Most of them had officially been welcomed into the brotherhood. Several had taken the trip to the homestead with him, and Achilles had inducted them properly.

Haytham cursed and raised a hand to his eyes. "Why is it, every time I leave the colonies, someone does something to create ill-will among the people which in turn spawns Assassins?" He motioned to Connor again, scowling as he did.

"It would seem you do not have as tight control over your own order as you would like to believe, father."

"Something I'll have to deal with." He muttered to himself. "For now, lets meet this contact of yours."

"Lets?" Connor let his arms fall to his side.

"Pardon?"

"You cannot come with me. I do not want to put my contact in any danger from you or your men."

His father's jaw went slightly slack. "Are you suggesting I just sit here and wait?"

"You did not seem to have a problem with that earlier."

"Oh don't start that again. Look, I promise as soon as we are done, I will forget your friend's name and face. No harm will come to them from me, I assure you."

Connor raised an eyebrow at his father. "I can trust you to keep that promise?"

"Have I ever lied to you, Connor?"

"You-"

"Exactly, I have been nothing but honest with you. Now then, shall we be off?"

An angry scowl creased Connor's face. His father had a habit of cutting him off before he could argue, and giving reasons that Connor could technically not argue with like 'because I said so', or 'just do it'. He sighed and rolled his eyes again before reaching back and pulling his hood up over his head. "Very well, follow me." He turned on his heel and walked out the door. He made his way down the stairs and out the door of the Inn they had been staying in and out onto the busy streets of New York. Haytham followed closely behind him, as Connor slowly began to make his way up the street.

"So do you think this friend of yours will have anything?" Haytham spoke up, a slight edge of sarcasm in his voice.

"I am not sure." Connor frowned deeply, and casually sidestepped a vendor, raising a hand to signal his lack of interest in whatever product he was selling. "She has been busy in Delaware recently, but she has normally kept a very close eye on the northern end of New York. It is worth asking."

"She?" Haytham looked over at him, raising his eyebrows. "Your contact is a woman?"

Connor looked up to meet his father's gaze, puzzled. "What is so extraordinary about that?"

"Nothing extraordinary." His father shrugged. "Just not what I was expecting."

Connor decided not to question it further and simply focused on maneuvering his way through the city. New York was incredibly large and he found it very difficult to memorize his way through it. He relied heavily on tall churches as landmarks, but he had gotten lost more than a few times. Still, he knew as long as he traveled northwest, he'd find one of Dobby's usual locations. She had never been too terribly difficult to find, after all.

The majority of the walk was spent in silence, interrupted every so often by a few children who were used to more clueless targets, and attempted to pick his and his father's pockets. A quick shove or a few coins tossed their way was enough to deter them, however, and the remainder of the short journey went on uninterrupted. They made their way to the less populated part of town, and Connor began to slowly scan the houses for one he recognized.

His father continued to look on quietly, following at a short distance seemingly lost in thought. Connor was happy to not have to worry about it as he continued to look on for any signs of his friend. Slowly the scenery began to look more and more familiar, and finally he found himself in front of a house with green doors and battered shutters.

"She lives here?"

Connor started a bit, having almost forgot his father was there. "No." He shook his head and slowly began to make his way towards the back of the house. "She usually can be found here though." Sure enough, leaning against the edge of the house, whittling at a piece of wood was Deborah Carter. Connor smiled at her and reached up, pulling his hood down as he walked up to greet her. "Dobby."

She looked up sharply at the mention of her name and smiled suddenly at the Assassin in front of her. "Connor!" She removed herself from the house and walked over, putting a hand on his shoulder. "Good to see you."

When he had first met Dobby, it had taken him a few minutes to decode all of her sentences through her heavy accent, but after knowing her for a while, it had faded and he could understand her perfectly. "You as well." He nodded to her.

"What brings you all the way up here?" She put her hands on her hips and took a step back. Her gaze suddenly flickered behind Connor and she motioned past him. "Who's your friend?"

Connor turned his head and looked back at Haytham who was still standing a few steps behind him. He then suddenly found himself at a loss for words. Should he take the time to explain who Haytham was? Explain why he was working with the grandmaster of the order they were fighting? No, he decided. No he should not. He waved his hand to indicate it was unimportant. "Just an associate of mine."

He was suddenly very aware of his father turning his head sharply and staring at him, with a sort of incredulous anger. Dobby seemed to not notice. "An associate, hm? Well aren't you popular." She smiled knocking her fist against his shoulder. "What can I do for you?"

"I need to know if you know anything about a man I'm looking for. He's been smuggling stolen goods through here." Connor spoke quickly, trying to ignore the glare Haytham continued to give him.

"Hmm." She folded her arms. "Stolen goods? I haven't heard anything about that. But…" Dobby pocketed the knife and block off wood she had been carving. "There has been some crooked business ventures down on the docks."

"What do you mean?" Haytham spoke up from behind Connor, taking a step forwards.

"There's a man who's set up shop down to the east of here, a real weasel of a man if you ask me. He was a bit on edge from what I saw of him."

"Did you see what he looked like?" Connor frowned.

"Sure." She put a hand behind her head. "Real small fella, missing a few teeth, and always wears a red bandana. Sound like your man?"

"Certainly sounds like a start." Haytham folded his hands behind his back thoughtfully. "Is he still there, do you know?"

"He's been got a small army of guards and traps protecting a warehouse he's got himself holed up in while ships come and go, getting loaded up with all sorts of packages. I figured he was doing some sort of shady business, but I haven't really been able to get close. But now that you're here, I suppose I won't have to will I? Unless you'd like my help."

Connor shook his head. "I can take care of this, thank you. You still have business elsewhere don't you?"

"Just waiting for a few things to go through before I head back to work." She shrugged. "I would be up for getting into a scrap or two with you, though."

"That's alright, thank you Dobby."

"Let me know if you change your mind, then." She reached up and patted the side of his face. "Take care out there. Even with your skill, it's going to be difficult." She smirked.

"I will." He turned his head away lightly, to look at his father, before nodding away. "Good bye for now, Dobby."

"Bye now." She nodded at him and then looked to Haytham. "You take care too."

Haytham smiled thinly at her. "Nice to meet you." He spoke briskly and then turned to Connor. "Well then, I suppose we had better go."

Connor nodded, and began to walk off in the direction Dobby had pointed him in. Haytham followed closely, and quickly checked over his shoulder to see how far they had gotten before rounding on his son rather quickly.

"An associate, am I? That's how you're introducing me?"

Connor looked over and continued to walk, pulling his hood back up. "You may have an easy time explaining to others that I am your son, but it is not that easy for me."

"And why is that?

"You are the grand master of the order I am attempting to impede-"

"Attempting, good choice of words."

Connor chose to ignore the remark, and continued on. "I have explained my relation to you, but it is harder to explain why I am working with you. I will explain it to her properly later, when time permits. Or would you rather I go explain the entire story to her now, and allow more time for the only lead we have to go dead?"

"It's incredible, really. The sheer lack of respect you display for me." Haytham snorted, continuing to walk beside Connor, and continuing to look very put out. "You introduce me as an associate, and then claim you did so because time did not permit you to say the words 'this is my father'? Honestly, Connor." He growled under his breath. "You know, where I come from there's a certain commandment people are expected to obey, that I do believe goes something along the lines of: Honor thy mother and father."

"Correct me if I'm wrong father, but is there not another commandment from the same set that dictates: thou shall not kill?"

There was silence between them after a moment. "You know the ten commandments, then?"

"Achilles did not just train me in running, jumping and killing."

"Of course." Haytham sighed. "Look, the point of that was-"

"Father." Connor put a hand on Haytham's shoulder to silence him and then pointed forwards. "There." Straight ahead of them was a large warehouse with several expanding overhangs near it, and an entire squadron of soldiers and mercenaries patrolled outside.

Haytham followed his son's gaze. "Well that is promising. But this conversation is not over."

"Yes, father, you can continue to lecture me later." Connor rolled his eyes. He crouched a little as he moved closer, and ducked behind a crate. He scanned the warehouse, and watched as some of the guards moved back and forth, looking about a bit lazily. "There is a window up there." Connor nodded upwards to a window on the far side of the building. "If we can get there, it will make things easier."

"Very well." Haytham came up next to him. "Go on then."

Connor spared a quick glance backwards. "Remember, father, Dobby said there were traps as well. So be careful."

"Please, son." Haytham straightened himself, indignantly. "I've been at this a fair bit longer than you. Traps are the least of my worries."

"Then let's go."

* * *

Getting to the window was easy. Even though he was aging, Haytham was still able to keep up with his son, who leapt across crates and planks as if gravity had decided to stop applying to him. Haytham climbed over the windowsill, under the glass panes that Connor held open for him, and stood up straight. The warehouse was slightly larger than he had been expecting, but from the platform he and his son now stood on, they had a fairly good view of everything below them.

There were at least twenty men below them, all of them preoccupied with moving the large boxes, presumably filled with the stolen items they had been using to track the man they planned to kill, to the door of the warehouse. Connor walked up beside him as Haytham continued to scan the warehouse floor.

"I don't see our man…" He mused, quietly raising a hand to his mouth.

"Do you think he is somewhere else?"

"He might be." Haytham shrugged. "We can make our way down there, and see if there's anything or anyone who can tell us where he is."

"Alright." Connor nodded, and looked around. "Over there." He nodded a ladder that had been shoved up against the platform they stood on, in the corner. It would be discreet enough for them to climb down, without being spotted. He nodded up at Connor, who maneuvered his way to it, and slowly turned himself over onto it and began to climb down. Haytham walked over and peered over the edge at his son, who looked up at him, from about half way down the ladder. "Careful, some of the rungs are broken."

"Alright." Haytham grabbed the edge and turned around lowering his feet onto it and beginning to climb down. As Connor said, about two of the rungs very suddenly gave way under his foot, but he was able to catch himself before he either fell or made some amount of noise that would give them away. He finally lowered himself to the ground and turned around to see Connor crouching behind a stack of boxes out of sight of a few guards that were trying to figure out the best way to pick up a particularly heavy crate. Haytham looked over at Connor who raised his eyebrows as if to say 'this may take a while'.

The Templar grand master crouched down and made his way over to his son, before lowering one knee to the ground and peering around the corner. The guards were struggling under the weight of the box, and clearly weren't going to be moving anytime soon, so he pulled himself back and slowly got comfortable. Connor however remained vigilant, peering around the corner, crouched in a position that was starting to make Haytham's legs hurt just by observing. He sighed and slowly allowed his mind to begin to wander.

He had claimed that he was upset by the earlier incident because of the lack of respect, but truth be told it ran a bit deeper than that. Upon finding out about Connor's existence, Haytham had felt a surge of emotion. Not all of them joyful, seeing as was in actuality the assassin who had killed several of his coworkers, but not one of those feelings had been shame. However, Connor had apparently known that Haytham was his father from the very start. And not once had Haytham wondered what Connor thought of it. He had assumed his son's feelings had been similar to his own, but he was slowly seeing that that was untrue.

After all, Connor had known that his father was the grandmaster of the Colonial rite, and had dedicated his life to killing him anyhow. There were years of resentment and hatred behind Connor's feelings about Haytham, and it had taken him this long to realize just how deep those feelings ran. Connor couldn't even introduce Haytham as his own father. He was ashamed, or perhaps even embarrassed to acknowledge he was related to his greatest enemy. Of course Connor called him father, although when he was angry, or feeling bitter he would call him slightly less polite names, but even the way he said it was almost as if he was trying to insult Haytham with the title.

Haytham sighed and rubbed the bridge of his nose, squeezing his eyes shut. He had never had to deal with problems like this before, and honestly he wasn't quite sure how to handle it. Then again, it wasn't as if someone came up to you and gave you a hand-book on how to be a good father. Haytham would have to figure it out as he went, like everyone else. Though he had slightly more challenges than the average parent, seeing as he and his son were fated to kill one another one day, unless Haytham could talk him round with reason.

"Father?"

A hand on his should and a slight shake brought him back to reality. He opened his eyes to see Connor peering up at him from under his hood. "Hm?"

"Are you alright?"

Haytham blinked. "I'm fine… why do you ask?"

"You looked as though you were in pain."

"Oh." He frowned. He hadn't aware his emotional turmoil had been so visible on his face. He waved his hand. "Just some old battle wounds acting up. I hardly even notice it anymore." He lied smoothly.

Connor looked slightly suspicious, but turned around, deciding not to question it. "One of them mentioned a ledger with times of departure for the ships. Perhaps if we find that, we will find out if our target has left on a ship or is planning to."

"Yes… good idea." Haytham nodded. "Did he say where it was?"

Connor nodded and pointed over at a table near the door. "I can get around to it fairly easily." He looked back.

"No." Haytham spoke without even realizing it.

"No?" Connor sounded just as surprised as Haytham felt.

"… No." Haytham affirmed. "I will get the ledger. You go around the other way, and see what else you can find." He nodded at the door and raised a hand. "Listen in on a few more of the workers, they're bound to let something useful slip."

His son regarded him with apprehension, before glancing off to the side again, his eyes following Haytham's gesture to the door the workers had walked through, and he nodded slowly. "Alright, fine." And with that he was gone.

Haytham edged around the crate he hid behind and locked his eyes on the table. Very slowly he pulled himself to his feet and checked his surroundings before darting from his cover. He moved quickly and silently, very careful not to alert anyone to his presence. He might have not been as good as he had once been, but he could certainly still get around just fine. He straightened himself up, as he approached the table and peered across its surface. The sound of lapping waves was slightly louder and Haytham realized the warehouse must have extended over the docks, and they were over water now.

He pushed the thought to the back of his mind as he scanned the table, sure enough just as Connor had said there was a blue ledger resting on the surface, face up and closed neatly. Haytham scooped it up, and cracked it open, flipping through a few pages. It certainly looked promising enough, and with some time he would be able to easily decipher where his target had run off too, or where he planned to run off to. A small smile creased his lips, and then…

"Who the hell are you?"

Haytham flinched and closed his eyes before snapping the book shut and holding to his chest. "Oh not this again…" He turned around to see a balding man, with blackened teeth and drooping features glaring at him. The man's eyes went to the ledger in his hands, and then to the sword and pistol at his side, and then his eyebrows shot up in alarm as he realized why Haytham was there.

Haytham wasted no time tucking the book into his belt, and then flexing his wrist, coaxing his hidden blade from his sleeve, he dover forwards raising his arm and plunging towards the man's neck. However, the man was quicker than he gave him credit for, and raised his own arms, his open palms shoving against Haytham's shoulders, pushing him backwards. Haytham stumbled, a bit before regaining his footing, though he nearly lost it as his foot snagged on a piece of line that had been lying on the floor, but he was easily able to pick himself up. He managed to steady himself, and stood up straight again, but as he did he noticed the man grinning maniacally at Haytham's feet and then darting for one of the pillars towards the left of him. Haytham darted after him, but the man reached the pillar quicker than he could move, and with one fluid motion, produced a knife and sliced through a taught piece of rope. As he did, Haytham heard the sound of a metal grate slamming against stone, and he raised an eyebrow.

"What was that supposed to-" He didn't get a chance to finish his sentence as the aforementioned rope he had tipped over, very suddenly tightened around his ankle and yanked his foot out from under him. He gasped as he was suddenly pulled across the floor, and out of sheer reflex he reached up and managed to grab a post in the ground, and wrapped his arm around it. He gasped in pain as the rope pulled tightly around his ankle and continued to pull, putting an enormous amount of strain on his leg. He lifted his head and looked down to the rope, and began to follow it. It led to a large metal drain, in the floor near the front of the warehouse about three feet away from Haytham. No doubt it lead to the ocean, and was weighted rather heavily, which explained the intense weight on his ankle, and if Haytham were to let go of the post he had managed to secure, he would quickly be pulled to a watery grave. This must have been one of the traps Connor and his contact had talked about.

"Now I've got you!"

Haytham looked up at the drooping faced man, who stood poised over him, a pistol in his hands, which was aimed squarely at Haytham's face. His eyes widened a little bit and he looked down at himself, looking for something to defend himself with. He still had his weapons, but if he were to let go or stop propping himself against the weight that was pulling on him, he knew he would slip under the water quicker than he could kill the man and cut the rope. He was pinned. He looked back up, and as the man's finger tightened over the trigger, very suddenly his head jerked backwards as if pulled by what little hair he had, and a shining silver tomahawk slide over his neck, opening it and spilling his blood across the floor. He gagged for a brief moment before dying, and falling to the floor, in a heap, revealing Connor standing behind him, running the edge of his newly bloodied tomahawk over a cloth.

The boy looked down at him for a moment or two, and Haytham could have sworn he saw a smirk on his son's face. He sighed and pushed himself up against the post, grimacing at the pain in his leg.

"Connor do you remember what I was saying earlier about honoring your mother and father?"

"I do."

"This is one of those instances, so if you would, kindly keep your remarks to yourself."

"Did you get the ledger at least?"

Haytham glared up at him, and nodded to his waist. "Yes I did, now please." He sighed, looking down. "Cut me loose."

Connor's grin grew just a little wider, and he gave his father a mock bow. "Yes, of course, most honored father." He said, as jeeringly as he could, and then, he quickly knelt down, produced his own hidden blade from his sleeve and sliced through the rope.

Haytham scowled and pulled his leg back up, reaching down to examine his ankle. "Oh shut up." He muttered.

Well, at least he couldn't complain that his son did not have a sense of humor about the whole ordeal.

* * *

**(So most of these stories come from conversations I have with my friend while we play it. Because we play it, and then we replay it, and then we work on full synch, and we have quite a bit to say. This idea came from a time when my friend and I were replaying the mission where you chase after Church on the Aquila, and she mentioned that not once on the ship does Haytham refer to Connor as 'captain'. Her original thought was for Connor to insist on being called 'captain, and Haytham responding with his general snarky self. **

**"While we are on this ship, you are to refer to me as 'captain'."**

**"Very well, then you are to refer to me as 'most honored father'." **

**And thus, I decided I had to write a one-shot in which Connor calls Haytham: "Most Honored Father". I feel like it turned out okay.) **


	5. People From Our Pasts

Running into Connor had been, in all honesty, an accident. He had rented a room in the Green Dragon for a brief stay in Boston, seeing as there were some matters that needed his immediate attention. And upon his return to the tavern, he had been quite shocked to see his son sitting at one of the tables, in full Assassin garb, chatting with a man with thinning hair, a black shawl and a hat hanging loosely around his neck by a draw string. There was something about the man that seemed terribly familiar, but Haytham could not for the life of him place who he was. The two were carrying on a conversation and seemed to be amiable enough, and Haytham for a moment wondered if he should simply retreat upstairs to his room and not disturb them. He had work to do after all.

However, that was plan went out the window the second the man his son had been chatting with glanced up, caught sight of him, and nudged Connor in the arm. Connor turned around, and Haytham found himself locking in a staring contest with the young Assassin. The two looked at each other for about four awkward minutes before Haytham decided to end it. He walked over, side stepping a few drunkards behaving like drunkards do, and made his way over to the table where his son and his friend sat.

"Connor." He nodded a greeting. Connor stared up at him from under his hood, and for a moment Haytham thought he would just sit there and silence, staring at him as if he was hoping his gaze alone would cause Haytham to catch fire.

But he nodded back. "Father." He spoke it curtly. "What are you doing here?"

"I rented a room here, actually." He looked around. "I had some business in town, and I don't exactly have an estate in every city in the Colonies."

"Business?"

"Nothing you need concern yourself over, son." He spoke quickly, not wanting to go into any details of what brought him to Boston. Connor was still technically his enemy after all. He looked over at the man who continued to sit idly by. He was clearly perfectly alright with allowing Haytham and Connor carry on a conversation with out him.

Connor however followed his father's gaze and cleared his throat. "Father, this is a friend of mine. Duncan Little."

Haytham smiled and bowed his head a little. "Pleasure to meet you, Duncan."

"We've met before, actually."

Haytham saw Connor tense a bit, and frowned looking over at the man. There was no malice in his words, but seldom did someone claim to know him, while he did not know them back, for a good reason. He gave the man a strained smile. "Have we?"

"Ye killed my uncle. A couple years back. Well more than a couple."

Ah there it was. How was it his son had such a knack for finding all the people who had been caught up as victims of some of Haytham's ventures? He tried to leave as little to no damage in his wake, but no matter whom he killed there was always going to be someone left behind to grieve. Connor should know that just as well as he did. Then again, maybe he did. Neither of them looked or sounded too upset by this statement, and if anything it was just creating an awkward lull in the conversation. Duncan cleared his throat, and continued.

"In the Opera house in London. It was a long time ago now, I'm not too surprised you don't remember."

Haytham's eyes widened with a sudden realization. "That child? That was you?"

"T'was."

"My god." His eyes widened. "Miko was your uncle?" Haytham was suddenly very aware of the amulet that hung around his neck against his chest underneath his shirt. It might have been his imagination, but it started to feel heavier.

Duncan nodded, and Connor started drumming his fingers up and down across the surface of the table, fidgeting anxiously. Haytham stood stock still looking at the grown man in front of him, remembering the terrified face of the young boy who had stared at him, clutching the fabric of his shirt and trembling in place.

Duncan looked back and forth between Haytham and Connor before pushing himself up into a standing position. "We'll talk more later, Connor." He said, reaching over and clapping the Assassin on the shoulder. "It was good to see you, I hope you stay in Boston a while longer." He turned to Haytham, and for a moment, he thought he was about to say 'nice to see you again', but he simply nodded awkwardly and ducked around him, turning and heading for the door.

Haytham watched after him and frowned. "What are the odds…?" He spoke mostly to himself, as he wasn't honestly expecting an answer. He then looked back down at Connor. "That was awkward."

"Is it strange for you, to put a name with the face of the people you've hurt? Does it humanize them to you?"

Haytham sighed and slid into the chair beside his son, although he had received no invitation to do so. "Connor, you are an Assassin. Do you think your path is bloodless?"

"It is different." Connor snapped, glaring.

"How so?" He folded his arms.

"I fight to liberate, and save people. You fight and kill to enslave them."

"Now you're just arguing semantics." The Templar Grand Master rolled his eyes. "The Templars are not looking to enslave the people. Merely to unite them under one common rule."

"Through force, you would subdue them."

"Connor, please." He leaned forwards across the table. "We've had this discussion. People lie, steal and kill one another every day. They enslave others, treat other humans as property, and treat others like your people as savages, as if they're below them. And this is something that would be ended with Templar rule."

"That is something that will be ended with justice. Your ideals of uniting everyone under one rule are poisonous and impossible."

"You think it is wrong to unite the people?" Haytham leaned back. "That it is better to leave every one divided and quarreling."

"There is a difference between unity, and conformity." Connor folded his arms. "To be able to unite under a set of laws that will provide justice to everyone, is something to be strived for. But to force your ways onto others, to enslave minds and compel obedience in the name of peace, it makes you no more than a tyrant."

Haytham sighed and leaned back in his chair. "You're so young, and so naïve."

Connor scowled and grabbed the edge of the table pushing himself back a little, looking put off. "You and Achilles are both fond of saying things like that."

"Well if enough people say it, maybe you'll finally start to see the truth in it."

Connor scowled and raked his fingers across the table, and for a moment, Haytham thought he would just get up and leave. So he cleared his throat, and leaned back in his chair. "So, how long have you known… um… Duncan?"

Connor looked back over at his father, suddenly looking very suspicious. "A little over a year now."

"That's incredible, that you know him, seeing as he's Miko's nephew." He leaned back in the chair.

"Miko?" Connor raised an eyebrow at him.

"An Assassin I knew." He looked away. "It's funny, how in a way this all began with him." He said, running his fingers in circles along the wood. "I suppose if I had never killed Miko, you would never have been born, now would you?"

"How so?"

"Miko had something… a key, if you will. It was the whole reason I came to the colonies. To see what it would unlock."

"The amulet?"

Haytham looked over at his son, tilting his head a little in confusion. Connor caught it, and dipped his head, letting his hood hide his eyes from view.

"My mother told me… that it was why you sought her out. She said it was your reason for being here."

"Well she told you, correctly." He leaned back, suddenly very thoughtful. "Good lord, a lot of people died in order for you to be conceived didn't they?" He mused. "Miko, Silas, Braddock… I'm not even sure how many soldiers."

"Who?"

Haytham's jaw dropped and he landed his fist on the table. "Oh come now! Your mother never told you about Silas or Braddock?"

Connor's face was sullen and serious again. "I was only five when she died. She did not tell me much about you. Only that she left you, due to your obsession with your work."

"Well then." Haytham straightened himself out, and leaned into the table. "You stay right here, and I will come back with some drinks, and then I will tell you the story of how your mother and I met."

Connor reached up, as if to stop him. "Father, no I…" He paused and shook his head. "I do not drink."

"Oh, that's okay, son." Haytham clapped Connor on the back, harder than he meant to, and almost brought Connor's face into the table. The boy pushed himself back up and looked up at his father with a glare, and Haytham only grinned. "I'll teach you how."

With that he turned on his heel and walked over to the bar, casting a glance back over his shoulder at his son. Connor was shuffling disquietedly, watching after his father with nervous eyes. He then settled back into the chair, and folded his arms, as if he was trying to get comfortable. Haytham chuckled and leaned back over the bar, fishing through his belt for his coin purse. It had been an interesting night so far, and seemed to promise to only get more and more interesting. And truth me told, he was fascinated to see just where it would lead.

* * *

**(Honestly, I think I could have done a lot better on this one. I rewrote it several times and I decided it wasn't getting any better so I submitted it. Someone asked me to write about Haytham meeting Duncan, so... I did. **

**Because holy crap you guys, I am running out of ideas so fast. **

**Is there anything you guys want to see? Any scenario you want to see these two get into? Leave a review or shoot me a PM. I will write just about anything you guys want. Within reason, I'd like to try to stay in character of course. **

**I do want to write more. But I have no idea what to write about. Help?) **


	6. How I Met Your Mother

The glass wasn't even half empty. In fact, Connor had barely taken a few sips from it and his face was twisted in an annoyed and disgusted scowl. "It is disgusting!" He said, shoving it back away from him. "I cannot stand the way it tastes."

Haytham rolled his eyes. "Connor, no one likes the way Alcohol tastes. Well except for maybe Thomas." He muttered. "Its more of an… atmosphere quality that makes it enjoyable. You'll get used to the taste of it."

Connor eyed the drink warily, and held it to his lips again, pinching a small sip between his lips, and coughing again, pushing it away. "I still find it disgusting." He lowered it back to the table and then peered up at Haytham from under his hood. "What is this really about, father?"

"What are you talking about?" Haytham took a drink from his own mug, and set it back down. "Can't a father buy his son a drink and tell a story without some ulterior motive?"

"We are not a typical father and son."

"True." Haytham frowned behind his mug. "However, tonight might be as close as we get." He leaned back. "So, apart from the fact that I was 'obsessed with my work'… What else did your mother tell you about me?"

"Not much." Connor raised the drink back to his lips, testily, and then took a gulp, which was the most he had managed all night. Still, the disgust was evident on his face. "She told me your name, and she mentioned in passing you belonged to a group called the 'Templars', but not much else." He ran a finger along the rim of the drink. "Most of what I learned of you, I learned from Achilles."

"Hm, well I doubt either of them painted me in a very flattering light."

"You have not done much for yourself, either, father." His son took another sip, but pushed it away from his lips quicker, and held a hand to his chest as he let out a cough. Haytham suppressed a chuckle and reached over, patting the assassin on the back. After Connor was able to get his breath back, he wiped his mouth on the back of his hand, and looked back up. "… You said you would tell me of how you met her."

"Indeed I did." Haytham leaned back in his chair, putting a hand to his lips. He then eyed Connor, and a sly grin appeared on his lips. "But, you were right. We're not a typical father and son, and I suppose I'm lucky we've gotten this far. What with the drinking and lack of trying to kill one another. I oughtn't push my luck. You probably don't want to hear that story anyhow."

Connor sat up, straight, looking very cheated and very surprised. "But… you…"

"Yes, Connor?"

The boy was silent for a few moments before he pushed himself back in his chair, tilting it back onto two legs, and turning his head away in a huff. "Fine, do not tell me." He snorted.

"Oh come on, son." Haytham laughed, readjusting his grip on his mug. "I'm only teasing you."

"Yes, very amusing, father."

"Do you want to hear it or not?"

"If you are going to tell it, I am listening."

"A simple 'yes' would have sufficed." Haytham snorted, as he watched Connor continue to nurse the ale in front of him. "There was a man, named Silas." He looked away, and his son's attention shifted back to him. "He was… an interesting character. The first I saw of him, was when he left shortly before I rescued Benjamin Church from one of his men."

"A decision you regret now?" Connor tilted the drink back to his lips.

"Not so. Benjamin was most helpful to me, before he betrayed our order." He shrugged. "But that's not really what's important, here. You see, Silas had taken to enslaving and selling Natives. A charming practice."

Connor's features soured. "Sounds like a charming man."

"Indeed." Haytham chuckled. "Well in any case, your mother, and several of the villagers were being brought to Southgate, where Silas had set up shop. I needed a way in, and so… I hijacked the convoy that was being used to transport her, and rode it in, wearing a British uniform."

Connor lowered the mug, his eyebrows flat against his eyes, disbelieving. "That is how you met her? You hijacked a cart that was she was being held hostage on?"

"And she fell in love with me anyhow. Speaks volumes of how charming I can be." He smiled widely at the memory. "Once we were inside, I freed her and the others trapped inside, and killed Silas. Or rather Benjamin did."

"Which, of course, you did out of the goodness of your heart, and because you care so deeply for my people." Connor droned sarcastically.

"Yes, alright, there were other motives behind it, but it was still a disgusting practice that needed to be ended." Haytham defended himself, frowning. "Does the fact that it benefitted me really take away from the deed itself?"

"A little bit." Connor bit down on his lip. "So that was it? You saved her, and then…"

"No." Haytham sighed heavily. "Your mother ran me ragged trying to earn her trust, which she finally gave me, after I killed Edward Braddock."

Connor put his chin into his fist, leaning onto the table. "That name sounds vaguely familiar."

"He was certainly no friend to your people. He and I knew each other well, from time spent in London."

He could see his son trying to piece it together. Connor frowned deeply, and tipped the mug idly. "Was he an Assassin?"

"What?" Haytham nearly dropped his drink in shock. Edward was the exact opposite of an Assassin, and the very thought of it was almost enough to make Haytham start laughing. But then he realized that was probably a logical conclusion for Connor to come to. He had probably heard a passing mention from Achilles, and Haytham had confessed to killing him, so it had been an easy assumption to make. "No, no…" He waved a hand in the air. "Braddock was a Templar."

"He was?"

"Oh an awful one. But a Templar nonetheless, despite my protests. He was a monstrous beast, who took great pleasure in brutality and depravity. Your good friend Washington served under him for a while." He quickly slipped that last part in, watching Connor's face, for any signs of emotion or betrayal, but the neutrality there suggested he already knew that. Oh well. "Your mother and I worked together, and thanks to her, and some other natives, I was able to get close enough to kill him."

"And that was when she began to trust you?"

"I had proved myself a friend to her by then, yes."

Connor looked down at the table, and Haytham frowned at him, unable to read the look on his son's face.

"I've never been much of a story teller."

"Its fine." His son shook his head.

Haytham looked on for a few minutes and then his eyes flickered to the mug in Connor's hands. "Well. You did better than I expected."

"Better?" Connor raised an eyebrow. "What are you talking about?"

"Your drink. You got down half of it. I'm impressed; I didn't think you would get past a quarter. And you look only slightly off kilter! Well done, Connor. I was expecting you to be a complete light weight."

Connor's eye began to twitch. "Did you?"

"Well, you can barely get any down without gagging, and I thought—Connor? Connor what are you doing? Put that down!"

Connor tossed his entire head back, holding the mug up to his lips, and began chugging. Haytham stood up and grabbed the mug, and attempted to pull it away, but Connor held fast, and by the time Haytham got it away from his son's mouth, it was already empty. He looked down at the wooden cup, and then back up as Connor stood there staring at him defiantly. "I am NOT a light weight."

"That was incredibly foolish!"

"Please. I am fine." Connor snorted.

* * *

Haytham had never had the highest tolerance for Alcohol. Thomas could drink eight pints of ale, and barely get even a little tipsy, and even Charles could hold his own better than he could. But he had constitution of iron compared to his son. Connor had indeed been fine, for about five minutes after chugging the rest of the ale, but after that it had all gone to hell. Of course it wouldn't have been half as bad if he had not finished off Haytham's drink as well, just to prove his point.

He had Connor's arm pulled over his shoulder, and a hand looped under his son's belt, as he hauled him up the tavern stairs. Connor's head lolled uselessly, and all he seemed to be capable of doing was laughing. He was giggling like a mad man, and was unable to tell his father just what was so funny.

Haytham scowled and wished the boy would support some of his own weight as he pulled him up the stairs, as his son was by no means small or light. But all Connor did was continue to laugh, and hold a hand to his face as Haytham forcefully hauled him up the stairs. "Yes, Connor, I'm glad this is the height of hilarity for you."

"It…" Connor started, but began to laugh mid sentence again, letting his head hang once again. "Nothing is funny, so why…" He coughed and laughed even harder. "Why am I laughing?"

"Because you are drunk."

"I am not drunk." He giggled.

"You are."

Connor just laughed again, and tilted hiss head backwards this time, and his entire body weight shifted, and Haytham had to struggle to support the sudden shift in his son's weight and grunted, pulling him back forwards. He rolled his eyes and finished pulling him up the last few steps. Connor swayed a little bit, before leaning heavily on his father again. "I've been thinking…" He chuckled, leaning forwards.

"In this state? Good for you."

Connor continued on, completely ignoring his father's words. "If you… If you had raised me … I would be a Templar."

Haytham frowned and looked over at his son, sharply. He looked back straight ahead, and readjusted his grip on his son's belt. _'And if my father had not been killed, I would be an Assassin.'_ He thought grimly to himself. "Yes, I suppose that's true."

"But if… if I was a Templar… I wouldn't be _me_ anymore."

Haytham kicked the door to his room open, and hauled Connor through it, sighing and shaking his head. "What a profound thinker you are, son."

"You know what, father?" Connor slurred, seemingly over his fits of laughter.

"What, son?" Haytham sighed, lowering Connor down into a sitting position on the bed. He then slowly began to remove the quiver and bow from his son's back, who obligingly—probably thanks to the alcohol—raised his arms to allow Haytham to pull them off.

"Everyone thinks you are this… cold, cruel, selfish…" He thought for a moment picking the word out in his head. "Prick." He then raised his finger to Haytham's face. "And you completely are, by the way." He them let his hand fall back, as Haytham scowled, and began to remove Connor's other weapons so he would not inadvertently stab himself in his sleep. "But… you're still my father."

Haytham looked up at Connor for a moment, and patted him on the cheek. "That's nice, Connor. Thank you." He grabbed Connor's legs and began to pull them up onto the bed, but his son shoved him back and then slammed a foot down onto the floor with a loud bang. Haytham took a step back, slightly shocked, and Connor looked up at him.

"The floor." He pointed, slurring slightly.

"What about it?" Haytham asked, still frozen in shock from the sudden outburst.

"It was trying to sneak up on me."

Haytham relaxed and sighed. "Yes, of course it was, Connor. Now come on, lie down." He reached back down and pulled Connor's legs up onto the bed, and then began to pull the covers up around him. He heaved one last sigh and patted Connor's shoulder before getting ready to stand up. "Good night, son."

"Wait." Connor grabbed his arm and pulled him back.

"What?"

Connor stared up at him, his eyes flickering across Haytham's face as if he was trying to pin point exactly where it was. He continued to grip his father's sleeve for a moment before letting go. "… I don't hate you… not all the time anyways."

Haytham blinked in shock, and then smiled, patting his son's hand. "Yes well, I don't hate you either, Connor. Even if you are an insufferable, ignorant little brat."

His words were lost on Connor who had already begun to drift off. Haytham shook his head and stood up, brushing himself off, looking down at the sleeping boy in front of him.

"I don't hate you." He repeated, chuckling a little. "How twisted is it, that that is as close to 'I love you' as we will probably ever get?"

Still that sentiment would seem wrong or foreign, coming from either of them, and they would both just have to settle for lack of hatred. He turned around, blew out the candle on the bed-side table and left the room. Though now he wasn't sure where HE was going to sleep.

* * *

**(Wow, ask and you shall receive, huh? I asked for ideas and you guys asked for drunk Connor. So... Here he is. XD **

**But seriously you guys, wow. I wasn't expecting so many suggestions! And they're all awesome. I will try to write as many as I can, so expect those within the next week or so. Or whenever work permits me to write. **

**Drunk Connor's actions are loosely based off my sister when she is drunk and calls me. Only Connor's statements are slightly more profound and coherent. My sister's drunk insight was: "Hey! You know what I just thought of? If you were a lemon, you wouldn't be you anymore.")**


	7. Last Words

The first thing Haytham was aware of, was that he was in a great deal of pain. He felt heavy and his shoulder felt as though it had been set on fire, and was still burning away into his flesh. His throat ached with dryness, and despite the fact that he was sure his eyes were open he could not see anything. What on earth had put him in this situation, he did not know, or rather, he did not remember.

After a while, the fog continued to lift from his mind, and he twisted his head to try and gauge his surroundings while his vision continued to take its time coming back to him. He was lying on something soft, and warm, and there was something equally soft and warm covering him, and he could hear a fire crackling somewhere to the left of him. He managed to flex his right arm a bit, but his left remained useless due to the pain in his shoulder, but his right arm moved up, to his chest, and discovered his shirt and cape were missing, as was his hidden blade and a quick hand along his waist revealed all his other weapons were as well.

Haytham didn't like this scenario at all. His vision was slowly swimming back, and he blinked his eyes forcefully, to try to make them focus. Over his head was a thatch roof, with a large hole in the center to allow the smoke from the fire to drift out. Haytham could barely make out flakes of snow drifting down, and he shivered a bit as his mind slowly registered that snow in fact meant 'cold'. He lifted himself a little bit to try and look around him, and noticed he was in a small wooden structure, lying on an array of animal pelts with several more draped over him. He pushed himself up with his right arm, and winced at the pain it brought him, but he managed to shove the pelt down to get a good look at his shoulder. It was wrapped in rough bandages, but a good deal of blood had soaked through them, and he reached up, to touch them, tenderly. He frowned and tried to recollect just how he had come to receive such a wound, when the answer came floating back through his memory.

He had been out in the frontier, tracking a convoy of British soldiers, who were heading towards a camp he was to infiltrate when there had been a sudden great deal of growling and then… nothing. Some animal must have attacked him. Haytham shook his head, and gripped at the bridge of his nose. He was getting too old for this sort of thing.

That still left the question of where he was now. He grabbed one of the pelts and wrapped it around his shoulders, carefully examining the hut he was in for his weapons and clothes, but saw nothing. It was bare except for him, the makeshift bed, and the fire. He slowly pulled himself up, propping his hands on his knees and looked to the heavy fabric that was draped over the entrance to the hut. He walked to it slowly, and pulled the fabric back enough for him to see outside. Snow coated the ground heavily, and the wind bit at his face as he pulled the curtain back some more. Instantly, he became aware of shrieks and yells in another language he didn't understand, and he crouched down instinctively, looking for signs of danger.

To his surprise, he saw no danger. Just a group of children, native by the look of it, running around in the snow, just a few feet outside the hut Haytham was standing in. Haytham drew himself up, and pulled the curtain back entirely to get a better view. He stepped out, but not enough to fully expose himself to the cold, and looked around, completely shocked. He was in a native village, with tall wooden walls surrounding it, and villagers walking around as if it were summer, rather than the dead of winter. Haytham's jaw dropped as he scanned his surroundings, he had never been in a village before, as it was usually forbidden for outsiders to go near them, yet here he was in the heart of one, resting after an encounter with some wild animal.

Another playful yell drew his attention again and Haytham looked over just in time to see a young child, throw himself at a taller man, grabbing onto his arm and pulling himself up as if climbing a tree. A few other children joined in, jumping up and grabbing, trying to tackle the older man down. The man, instead of falling, picked up the child effortlessly with one arm, and turned around, yelling something out in that language Haytham couldn't understand, and grabbing for another, sending them scurrying laughing and yelling.

Haytham smiled briefly at the scene before him, before the man turned around fully, and Haytham's jovial mood faded entirely. The man rough-housing with the children in the snow, was none other than Haytham's own son, Connor. He had hardly recognized him. Connor was not wearing the assassin robes he usually wore, but was instead dressed in traditional native clothing, much like Ziio had worn, when they had first met. The whole scene was shockingly surreal and for a while Haytham could only stare, however he was brought back down to earth, when one of the children who Connor was grabbing at, noticed him. The young boy went pale and wide eyed, and grabbed onto Connor's arm and shook. Connor looked over at him, confused and the boy pointed at Haytham, ducking back a little bit, as if Haytham would cause him to catch fire just by looking at him.

Connor followed his gaze and his eyes landed on Haytham. Instantly his features turned serious again and he turned to the children and stood up straight. He said something and put a hand on the boy's head before pointing off further into the village. The children seemed all too happy to oblige and went running off without another word. Connor turned back around and walked over, causing Haytham to regain his senses and pull himself up straight again.

"You are awake." Connor greeted him, nodding a little bit.

Haytham looked over at his son, and swallowed trying to wet his tongue a bit. "Am I? I thought perhaps I might be dreaming."

A small smile tugged at Connor's lips and he looked back at the children. "Well, to them, _you _are the oddity."

Haytham looked past him a moment. "This is your village?"

"Yes." Connor turned around to look at it with Haytham. "Honestly, you are not supposed to be here. But they made an exception, since you are my father, and were dying when I brought you here."

"You brought me here?"

Connor looked over at him, and nodded. "This was the closest place I could get you, before you bled to death." His son pointed to his shoulder. "You are lucky. Not very many people survive that sort of encounter with a bear."

"A bear?" Haytham blinked. How the hell did a bear manage to sneak up on him? He could understand a wolf or a bobcat, but bears were not notoriously stealthy creatures. He really must have been getting old.

"I happened on you when it was trying to eat your shoulder." Connor nodded.

"That's certainly lucky."

"You were sneaking through our hunting region. Though I suppose it is lucky that I was visiting. I doubt anyone else would have risked taking on a bear for a complete stranger."

"You killed it?"

"You are wearing it." Connor pointed to the pelt on Haytham's back.

Haytham turned his head and looked at it, and raised his eyebrows. "Well done, I suppose." He looked back up. "And thank you."

Connor turned his eyes away and nodded back to the hut Haytham had been in. "Come on, it looks like you have opened your wound again."

Haytham took a step back and Connor sidestepped him standing half in the door. He leaned out and called something to a woman passing by, and jerked a thumb at Haytham and into the shed. He then turned around and walked inside and Haytham followed him in. "So, what moved you to save me, exactly?"

Connor picked up a bundle of kindling and tossed it onto the fire, before looking up. "Hm?"

"Why not let the bear eat me?"

There was another smirk on Connor's lips. "It is not a good idea to let the animals get a taste for man. It makes trouble."

"Ah. So not sentiment then."

Connor walked over and motioned for Haytham to sit down, and Haytham obliged, shrugging off the pelt and Connor slowly began to unwrap his shoulder. "Are you complaining?"

"Not so. I'm just curious." Haytham looked down, expecting to see an ugly wound, but to his surprise it didn't look that bad. He was impressed, to say the least, but looking down at his bare chest reminded him of something. "Where did my clothes go?"

Connor looked up at him and then back at the wound as he finished pulling the bandages off. "Some of the women offered to clean it for you."

"They're awfully accepting of an outsider like myself."

Connor chuckled a little, and leaned back. "Well, when I said 'for you', I meant 'for me'. They are all a bit wary of you."

Haytham raised an eyebrow as the curtain in front of the door opened, and the woman Connor had called to earlier came in, holding a small crate. Connor stood up and greeted her, taking it from her. He bowed his head and uttered something before turning around and walking back to Haytham. He pulled out a roll of bandages, a cloth, and a glass bottle. He bit the cork of the bottle, and poured the contents onto the cloth and held it to Haytham's wound, rubbing upwards, so as not to pull them open any further. Haytham winced and looked down as his son ignored his pain and went on cleaning. Haytham simply cleared his throat. "So, did your mother teach you English?"

Connor didn't even so much as spare him a glance upwards. "As much as she could, before she died."

"Charles said you were quite fluent when you were young."

"He was able to pick that up from what he heard before he beat me unconscious with his rifle?" Connor snarled at the mention of Haytham's comrade and Haytham flinched.

"I apologize for that."

"Hm," Connor's face was passive again, and leaned back, putting the cloth and bottle down before picking up the bandages and beginning to wrap Haytham's shoulder.

"Your mother spoke remarkable English. I made quite a fool of myself the first time we talked, by assuming she spoke none."

Connor looked up at him, a small smile back on his lips. "Yes, she told me about the time you attempted her name."

"Ah, that debacle."

"You also couldn't even say 'Ziio'."

"Alright, that's enough." Haytham frowned.

"I shudder to think what would happen if you tried to say my name." Connor went on. "Your tongue might catch fire."

"Are you quite through teasing me?" Haytham looked over. "It's hardly my fault you all have such long complicated names—ow!"

"Hold still." Connor tightened the bandage and tied it off. "There. That should keep you for a while."

Haytham put a hand on his shoulder and nodded. "Thank you." He muttered before flexing his wrist a bit, testing to see to what extent he could push his arm. He certainly wasn't in a position to go out hunting the redcoats anytime soon, so that would have to wait. He looked up at Connor who was standing, closing the box with the supplies in it, and he frowned suddenly. "Does it mean anything?"

"Does what mean anything?" Connor looked down at his father, suddenly confused.

"Your name. Is there meaning behind it?"

Connor furrowed his brow. "Why do you ask?"

"I'm curious." Haytham shrugged.

Connor put the box down by the fire and sat down, folding an arm over his knee. "Life that is scratched." He looked back up at his father.

"That's oddly fitting."

Connor smirked a bit again. "Why the sudden interest in language?"

Haytham blinked. It had honestly just been a conversation, something to pass the time while he had been patched up. "Well I'm slightly incapacitated at the moment, and you're here, so we may as well talk about something." It was strange for him, suddenly being saved by his son and being taken to the place he had grown up in. "You might as well teach me a few things, considering I'm not going anywhere until I get my clothes and weapons back."

"You want to learn our language?"

"Well, I doubt we'll have time for that sort of thing, but…"

Connor was smirking again, and he leaned forwards. "Fine. If you can master my and my mother's name, I'll consider teaching you a few phrases."

"Very well." Haytham settled in again. "How difficult could it possibly be?"

* * *

Very difficult, as it turned out. No matter how many times he repeated his son's or Ziio's name, Connor would scowl at him and correct him, to tell him he was saying some sound wrong when Haytham could hear absolutely no difference at all. After awhile, the two of them had given up and Connor had left the tent, leaving Haytham alone with nothing but bear pelts for company. Haytham sighed and shifted uncomfortably in the silence, looking into the fire as it crackled and burned away. He found himself rather unwilling to leave his small enclosure, lest he risk upsetting someone, or doing something that would get him thrown out into the wild frontier with nothing but his trousers and boots.

Still, after a few hours, his stomach was starting to make loud and noisy protests, and his son showed no signs of coming back. He slowly forced himself to his feet, pulling the bear pelt up and over his shoulders. He winced at the pain it brought him, but it certainly wasn't as stiff as it had been a few hours ago. He made his way to the curtain that acted as a door and pushed it aside, glancing out and around him.

The village was certainly a small one, and what people were out and walking around weren't paying very much attention to him. Haytham stepped out and almost instantly regretted the decision. He had been chilly inside the long house, but holy hell it was freezing out. He grabbed the pelt and pulled it tightened it around himself, shivering. He raised a hand to shield his face from the wind, as he glanced around looking for any sign of Connor. He saw no trace of his way-ward son, and bit back a groan as he slowly began to force himself through the snow that layered the ground and the wind that bit his face. Connor had to be around here somewhere, surely.

As he began to tread, as carefully as he could, he noticed he was getting stares. It certainly was starting to make him feel self conscious, but not enough for him to turn around and go back in to the long house and sit and wait for Connor to remember him. He sighed and stood up straight again, looking around. All he could see was a lake, and fences and snow covered canoes. He reached up and rubbed his temple with his forefinger and thumb, when a there was a tap on his shoulder. He turned around to see a native man standing there staring at him, a small sympathetic smile in place.

"Excuse me." He said, quietly. His English was halting and far more formal than Connor's, but he still spoke it quite well. "Are you not Ratonhnhaké:ton's father?"

"Hm?" He responded before he was able to make the connection that Ratonhnhaké:ton was his son. "Oh, yes. That's me."

"Are you looking for him?"

"I am."

The man gave him a smile. "Follow me, he is over this way."

"Thank you… um…"

"I am Kanen'tó:kon. I am a friend of Ratonhnhaké:ton's."

"Ah." He wasn't going to try and pronounce any of that. "Haytham Kenway, pleased to meet you."

The man called Kanen'tó:kon lead him through the small village, further towards the back near the lake. The stares and whispers seemed to die down a little more, now that he was walking with someone else, rather than all alone. Haytham stuck close to Kanen'tó:kon as they made their way back towards a small corner of the village, and he let out a small sigh of relief upon seeing his son standing in front of a snow covered mound, his back to the two of them.

Kanen'tó:kon raised his arm and waved. "Ratonhnhaké:ton!"

His son turned around, and his eyebrows raised in shock at the two walking towards him. He took a few steps forwards looking up at Kanen'tó:kon, and began to speak in quick fluent Mohawk. Kanen'tó:kon motioned towards Haytham, smiling amiably and the two of them continued on talking for a few minutes, before Connor reached over and put his hand on his friend's shoulder. Kanen'tó:kon nodded before turning to Haytham.

"It was good to meet you, Haytham Kenway."

"You as well."

With that, the man was gone, leaving Haytham alone with Connor who was staring at him with a raised eyebrow. "You got lost?"

"What? No. Is that what he said?" Haytham turned around looking after Kanen'tó:kon, frowning deeply.

"He said you looked lost, so he brought you over here."

Haytham huffed indignantly. "I left to find you surely, and I would have eventually. Its not that big a village."

"Find me?"

"Well I can only keep myself busy with staring at the ceiling for so long." He looked past his son at the mound. "What were you doing?"

Connor turned around, to look back at it, and then looked over at his father. "I don't get many chances to come back here." He explained, quietly. "I am very busy, these days. So when I am able to come and visit, I like to see it."

Haytham's throat seemed to turn to sand paper, and he tore his eyes away from it to look at his son's quiet and mournful features. "What is it?" Though he was afraid he already knew the answer.

"A burial mound." Came the soft answer. "This is where my mother was buried."

Haytham was sure his heart had leapt into his throat, and he nearly choked. His eyes stung, a brief moment and he took a few steps closer to the mound. It had been the last thing he had been expecting to see on this journey. The site where the one woman he had loved was buried. A thousand questions, and words raced across his mind but they all died once they reached his mouth. What could he possibly say? His head felt incredibly heavy, and he felt it lower until his chin nearly met his chest. "I wish I could have said good bye properly."

"Then say it now."

The words brought his head up quicker than he had meant to, and his shoulder ached in protest to the sudden movement. He looked over at his son whose eyes had not moved from the mound. "What?"

"You could tell her now." He motioned to the grave. "I can not claim to know what happens after we die, and it might seem childish, but… I like to think she still listens to what I tell her."

There was a small amount of redness in his son's cheeks, though that could have simply be from the cold. But the look on his face made Haytham think that his son was waiting for him to start mocking him. He turned and looked back down at the mound, his brow furrowed in thought. "I suppose there is a certain comfort in that." He reached up and readjusted his grip on the pelt around his shoulders. "Alright, I suppose. There's no harm in it…" He cleared his throat, and opened his mouth to speak, but almost instantly his pride shut his mouth for him. Connor stared at him expectantly, and Haytham felt his own face heat up. "Do you just… talk to her?"

"Yes." The answer was so blunt, so simple; it almost toppled Haytham's balance.

"Just like that?"

Connor rolled his eyes and turned back to the mound. "Since father is too nervous to speak…" He held his hands out, as if explaining to someone who wasn't there. "I suppose I will start it for him." He lowered his head, and spoke in a soft and reverent tone. "Since we are taking the time to say things we never had a chance to, I want to thank you for everything you taught me, since I never said it before. I understand it wasn't easy for you. But you did everything for me anyhow. So, thank you, mother."

They were quiet after that, for what seemed like ages. The wind howled and bit at their bare faces, and they stared on at the mound. Connor then turned to him and motioned forwards.

"There. Now you."

Haytham took a deep breath, and steadied himself against the cold. "Well… since I am here." He whispered, his eyes going everywhere but the grave. "I suppose I never had the opportunity to say I was sorry. For… for everything." He noticed Connor staring at him, but he tried not to acknowledge it. "I can't imagine how you felt. But… God." He reached up and rubbed the bridge of his nose with his forefinger and thumb. "God, I wish you had told me." They had sat together around that fire, leaning close, his arms wrapped around her, and her arms wrapped around her stomach. Only now, did he understand. "Its too late now, but I'm sorry I gave you so many reasons not to trust me." He looked up, finding now he could not take his eyes away from the grave. "Good bye, Kaniehtí:io."

Connor leaned forwards a little, as if to get a look at his father's face. "You said it."

"Hm?"

"You said her name."

Haytham flashed a smile at his son. "Well, then. Let it not be said I cannot be taught."

"Say mine, then."

"Connor."

"Clever." His son's eyebrows flattened. He put a hand on his father's good shoulder. "Come, your clothes have probably dried by now."

"Oh good. I was afraid I'd have to walk around dressed as a bear for the remainder of my stay here."

"I should warn you though, I think some of the children ran off with your hat."

"What?"

Connor grinned at him, a hint of laughter in his eyes. "I'll get it back, for you."

"You had better."

Connor smirked and shook his head, and began to walk back into the village, and Haytham watched him for a second before looking back at the mound. The speck of hesitation was gone, and he followed his son back towards the long house.

* * *

**(Someone asked for Haytham visiting Connor's village and Ziio's grave. I don't know if that is actually Ziio's grave in the village, but there is a mound with white flowers, so I took a creative liberty. Also, someone else asked for Connor tending to Haytham while he was wounded, so I am thinking of writing a sort or prequel chapter for the next one about Connor finding him while the bear is eating him. I feel like Connor saves Haytham an awful lot, here. After that, it should probably be Connor's turn to get rescued. It has to happen at least once, what with how prone to head injuries that boy is. Though someone brought up the possibility of sick Connor. We'll see where it goes.) **


	8. Family

Connor had not realized how much he had missed life in his village until Achilles had suggested he go and visit with them for a while. There had been a momentary lull in their battle with the Templars, and while Connor had been the first to suggest going out and rooting out leads, Achilles had other plans. He said he wanted some of the new recruits to get their feet wet, when it came to missions like this, and that Connor ought to take a month to himself, go back to his village, and relax. Connor had protested vehemently, of course, but as with all of their arguments, the old man had won in the end.

Connor had considered telling Achilles that he was going back to the village, when in reality he would ride to New York, but Achilles somehow preempted that, and had instructed the other recruits to inform him if Connor showed up there. The old man knew him better than he did. He wasn't sure why Achilles was so hell bent on him relaxing for a little while, though he had insisted it was because Connor had been running himself ragged lately and would end up killing himself just from exhaustion. Still, his anger and frustration at being kept from his work dissipated as the familiar sight of Kanatahséton came into view.

The second he dismounted his horse within the walls of the village, he might as well have been under attack. Kanen'tó:kon was the first on the scene. He had run out to meet him on the path to he village, and had barely been able to wait for Connor to get off the horse before grabbing his shoulders and bombarding him with questions.

"Ratonhnhaké:ton! It has been so long, I have not seen you since that incident with Johnson."

Being around colonists and Englishmen so long, Connor had forgotten just how much he missed being able to speak in his native tongue. He nodded, and reached up, taking a hold on Kanen'tó:kon's arm. "Yes, it's been a while, my friend."

"You said you would visit, and yet I see nothing of you."

Connor frowned, and released his arm. "I am visiting now."

"It has been ten years now, hasn't it? Since you left the village? And you have visited us, three times, and once was to kill a man."

He felt his face turn bright red at the accusations, and his eyes turned away, almost as if he was ashamed. "I am sorry, Kanen'tó:kon. They weren't an easy ten years, if that makes it any better."

"It doesn't."

"I am here now."

"Maybe it isn't good enough?" The two stared at each other, for a few seconds. Connor felt the corners of his lips begin to twitch, but they continued to stare, dead serious for a few more minutes. Kanen'tó:kon broke first. He burst out laughing grabbing onto Connor's shoulders. Connor let himself laugh too, leaning on his friend as they embraced. Finally they pushed back, reeling their laughter in. Kanen'tó:kon looked him up and down, the smile not quite gone from his face. "Oh it is good to see you, Ratonhnhaké:ton!"

"You too." Connor wiped the corner of his mouth, his shoulders still lightly hitching with laughter.

"Come on, everything is just like you left it."

They had made their way back to the long house that Connor had lived in and called home, and Connor had found that indeed nothing had changed. He had wondered if as he grew it would cease to feel as big and frightening as it did when he was a child, but there was a similar feeling of loneliness and emptiness and just feeling so… small, that accompanied the long house. Everything else in the long house looked like it had been used and changed regularly, as he obviously hadn't been the only one living in it, but his corner was completely untouched. Of course his bed had been changed for his visit, but the rest of it was exactly as he had left it ten years ago. He sighed and shook his head looking back around, trying to find some sort of joy or comfort of being back here.

"Do you remember when we were children, Ratonhnhaké:ton," Kanen'tó:kon walked up behind him. "And in the middle of the night you would come and wake me up, and we would go and sleep down by the lake?"

Connor smiled looking back over at his friend. "Yeah… I did that quite a lot, didn't I?"

"Almost every night." He said. "You hated sleeping in here."

It was true. This had been the long house that he had moved into after his mother had died, once the village had been cleaned out and repaired. As a child, he had sat, huddled under the pelts of his bed, curled in on himself, refusing sleep. He knew that if he slept, he would have nightmares, and if he had nightmares, then he would wake up, and when he woke up… who would he call to? Who else did a frightened child call to in the middle of the night, if not their mother? No matter what, if he slept in the long house when he woke up, in the middle of the night or otherwise, he would always forget. He forgot, but only for a split second, that his mother was dead. He hated forgetting because he always had to remember eventually.

"You grew out of it, though." Kanen'tó:kon smiled, nudging him. "Good thing too. I thought we were going to get beaten if we wandered back into the village covered in sand one more time. They would always yell at us, remember?"

"And yet, you always went with me anyways."

"Well of course I did. You always got me into so much trouble."

"What?" Connor raised his eyebrow. "I did not."

"You did!" Kanen'tó:kon exclaimed, exasperatedly. "Every time we were told not to do something your first idea was to go out and do it!"

"That is not true."

"It is, and you are well aware." His friend folded his arms. "You always dragged me into your ridiculous adventures, and I always ended up paying the price. Do you remember the time it had rained so much the lake had risen?" He pointed off in the direction of the water. "The adults all told us, 'do not go near the lake'. So what did you decide we should do? Go out and try to jump across the rocks that were still above the water. In the rain. And do you remember what happened, Ratonhnhaké:ton?"

Connor thought about it for a minute before a smile crept across his lips. "You fell in."

"I fell in!" His friend raised his arms. "I nearly drowned because of you."

"I had forgotten about that…"

"And what about the time you decided he ought to go try and catch a fox? My face was so scratched, my own mother hardly recognized me."

Connor could not resist laughing. "You grabbed it by the tail."

"Which was YOUR idea!" He said, his pout becoming more pronounced. Connor only continued to laugh, holding a hand over his eyes as Kanen'tó:kon continued to look slightly put out. Finally though a smile cracked his friend's lips and he shook his head. "Alright, alright. It's funny now, but it was not back then. Now get changed and come with me. We are going to go see the clan mother and then we can catch up."

* * *

After several days of being back home, it had almost been as if he had never left. He really had missed how close his village was, and the sense of family he got from being with them. It was a similar feeling that he got from the residents of the Homestead, but there was something more nostalgic about being back in the village.

He and Kanen'tó:kon had been spending plenty of time together, relaxing and they had even gone out hunting together. In the years he had been gone, Kanen'tó:kon had become a skilled hunter, and fighter although as per usual Connor was leaps and bounds ahead of him. Although he gloated, jokingly, he was sincerely very proud to see how far his friend had come.

The two of them sat together in a circle around a communal fire out in the middle of the village. Snow was falling lightly, but staying close and the fire was enough to keep them warm. There were several elder men sitting on rocks a few steps away from the fire, beating on drums and chanting, and there were also several haunches of venison and elk roasting over the fire, mixed with herbs and spices. The smells and sounds of home.

As Connor readjusted his legs, turning around to get comfortable, a child ran up to him, grabbing the sleeve of his shirt and tugging. Connor looked over and smiled at the little girl, turning towards her. She was clutching something tightly in her hands, so he nodded to it. "What do you have there, little one?"

She slowly unfolded her hands revealing several feathers tied together with a length of leather string, and decorated with a few painted beads. Connor smiled and reached out, running his fingers on a few of the plumes.

"Did you make this?"

The girl nodded, flushing and looking extraordinarily proud of herself. Connor's smile grew a little wider and he pulled his hand back, pointing to his chest.

"For me?" Another nod, and he shook his head, looking over at Kanen'tó:kon who was chuckling between drinks of water from a small wooden cup. He looked back at the little girl and put a hand on her shoulder. "Well here, you help me put it in." He then reached back and pulled out the string that was tying his hair pack, and placed it in his lap. The girl bounded over behind him, and Connor held his hair in place while she tied it around his pony-tail. Once she finished he moved some of the feathers so they were visible. "How is it?" He asked as she moved back in font of him. The look of elation she gave him was enough of an answer, and she took off around the fire, to the arms of her father, pointing back and explaining her good deed.

Kanen'tó:kon reached over and took one of the feathers in his hands. "It looks good on you."

Connor smiled and leaned back on his knees, watching the fire flicker sending up white smoke into the noonday sky. Watching the little girl sit with her mother and father, stringing together more feathers and beads, reminded him of something. A question that had been on everyone's mind at the homestead, apparently. Was Connor ever going to get married and have children of his own? When asked, the answer seemed obvious, and he rattled it off without thinking now, having been asked so many times if there was a woman in his life. He was too busy to be a husband, or a father, and he would not be able to give them the attention they needed now.

However, in all honesty, he had his own questions. How did one go about being a husband and a father? What made a good man, or good parent? It wasn't as if he had a lot to go off of. Achilles had lost his son and wife to the fever, and while Connor looked up to him as a father and more, he knew actually being a father was different. He had come into Achilles' life as an angry over-eager teenager, who needed the discipline necessary to become an Assassin. He knew he and Achilles had a relationship very much akin to a father son relationship, but… It still wasn't enough to base his own fatherhood off of.

And it wasn't as if he could base it off his relationship with his father. He had only known Haytham a few months now, and their rapport had never made it out of the twisted stage. Connor had seen animals kill and eat their own young before, and yet, those animals would probably look at his relationship with Haytham and say 'that is messed up'.

Though, Connor was sure of one thing. He would like a family someday. How far away that 'someday was' no one could say, but he was certain it would happen. Once the threat to his people was ended. Once war and revolution wasn't hanging over every aspect of his life.

Before he could get any deeper into his train of thought, he heard a loud commotion coming from the entrance to the village. He sat up and saw two young men running towards the fire, looking panicked and disheveled. Connor looked over at Kanen'tó:kon and pushed himself into a standing position. The Clan Mother turned around as they reached the fire, leaning over breathing heavily.

"What is it, what has happened?" He asked, taking a step to the side around the fire.

"Red coats!" The pointed back the way they came. "We spotted them from the hill, there is an entire squad of them, going through the valley."

Panicked whispers began to spread through the villagers, and Connor's brow furrowed. He looked to the Clan Mother who gave him a worried glance. He then turned back to the two men. "Were they headed this way?"

"I am not sure…" One said, shaking his head.

"Alright." He raised his hands. "Do not panic, it could be they are lost or just passing through." He then turned back to the Clan Mother. "I will go out and see if I can tell where they are headed." Before she could protest, he raised a hand to silence her. "I will not do anything to endanger the village. I will keep my distance, and will only approach if they reveal themselves to be hostile towards us." The last thing they needed were more soldiers coming through, looking for revenge for their dead comrades.

The Clan Mother nodded, looking down. "Very well, Ratonhnhaké:ton."

Kanen'tó:kon stood as well, taking a few steps forwards. "Let me come with you."

"No, Kanen'tó:kon. I will have a better chance of not being seen if I am by myself." He nodded at his friend with what he hoped was a reassuring smile. "Do not worry, I will be back. " He walked over to the two men, who looked to be a little younger than he was, and put a hand on one of their shoulders. "Where did you see them?"

"Not far from here. By the cliff face."

Connor nodded and took off. He made his way through the village and out into the valley beyond. He paused briefly scanning the surrounding woods, before spotting a tree with thick branches and bark knotted enough for him to climb. He ran at it, pushing himself up with sheer momentum before reaching and grabbing onto a stump of a branch and beginning to haul himself up the rest of the way. He swung himself over onto one of the thicker branches, and was running through the tree tops in no time at all. He was careful with his feet, not disturbing too much of the snow that had settled, but still moving at a quick pace. He leapt across one branch onto a hunting blind, and crouched down, as the sounds of drums filled his ears. He wasn't sure why British patrols insisted on carrying a drummer with them as if to say: 'Hey. Here we are. If you want to find us, follow the guy with the drums.' But then again he wasn't sure why the insisted on marching in straight lines either. He pulled himself off the hunting blind a little higher up into the tree, and clung to the edge, snow falling on the native clothing he now wore in lieu of his usual Assassin robes.

He looked down beyond the leaves and branches, and saw a group of soldiers trudging miserably through the snow. They did not have the look, or even the numbers, of a platoon looking for a battle, but rather the weathered tired look of those who had been traveling for days with no respite. Connor could hear a few of them grumbling, and propelled himself through the tree, onto a lower hanging branch, trying to catch any part of the conversation.

"This has got to be the most round about way of getting there."

"They said it would be quicker."

"Quicker my foot! We're freezing, and starving, and wandering through unfamiliar territory. We'll be lucky to reach the camp alive."

Connor felt himself relax, and leaned back in the tree. They were just passing through. To where, and why, he had no idea, and frankly it didn't feel too important. However, that was only how he felt until he saw the figure creeping through the bushes a few feet behind them. Connor steeled himself against the branch and watched as the red coats slowly began to make their way past him, and out of sight, while the figure stood up briefly and darted behind a tree. He frowned and swiftly and silently leapt across to the tree the strange man was hiding behind just in time to see him duck into a bush and the vague rustling of the foliage after that was the only clue Connor had as to where he was. He crouched onto a branch, and narrowed his eyes following with small steps along the edge of the branch. As the soldiers disappeared from view entirely, suddenly the figure stood up, brushing himself off.

Connor's eyes widened. "Father?!" He spoke only a little louder than he meant to. Haytham Kenway proceeded to brush the snow off his coat and look around, glancing at the tracks in the snow. He slowly began to follow along, and Connor bounded into the next tree, scrutinizing his father. What the hell was he doing here? Why was he tracking those soldiers? Well these were all answers Connor intended to get. Besides, getting the jump on his father from up in a tree would hold a certain amount of satisfaction. Pay back for what had happened back in that church. He followed along quietly, waiting for the opportunity to jump, when suddenly his father began to wander off to the left, very close to…

"Oh no." Connor perked up. "No, don't go that way… That's a…" An angry growl and a vicious snarl cut Connor off as he winced. "Bear's den."

He stood up and leapt across the trees, as his father let out a startled cry and the sounds of furious growls and roars began to fill the air. Connor pulled himself up along one of the branches and looked down just as the huge black bear, reared itself up onto two legs, swinging a might paw squarely across Haytham's jaw. The man fell backwards, and the bear was on him in a second. Connor winced at the sound of ripping flesh, and jumped from the fork in the tree he was standing on onto a branch only a few feet away from where the bear had begun violently tearing into his father's shoulder. He leapt from the branch, and landed with a thud in the snow, and was quick to pick himself back up.

A flick of his wrist coaxed the hidden blade from his sleeve, and he darted forwards. The bear looked up for a moment, its mouth bathed in blood, and with a growl it launched itself towards Connor. Connor reeled backwards, moving just out of the way of its strike, and as he twisted around, he stabbed downwards, his blade piercing the bear's shoulder. Of course that wasn't going to do much. The bear reoriented itself and turned around, lunging at him again, snapping its jaws at him. Connor ducked out of the way again, this time managing to get to the side of the bear, just enough to grab onto its fur and stab downwards. His blade plunged deep into the bear's flesh, just at the base of the skull, killing it instantly. He jerked the blade once, and pulled it out as it toppled to the ground. He briefly wiped the blade on the side of his thigh, and then retracted it back into his sleeve before looking over at where his father lay in the snow, which was slowly beginning to turn red. He rushed over and knelt by him, looking down at the tangled mess of cloth and flesh that his shoulder had become.

His father's eyes were closed, though his features were twisted in pain. Connor put a hand to his father's uninjured shoulder and shook. "Father?" Haytham did not answer, only turned his head and groaned at being shaken. Connor sighed and ran a hand through his hair. He honestly had no idea what to do now. Should he get up, and leave his father here to die?

Well why not? What had the man ever done for him? They had worked together once, but that was not enough to merit such sentiment. He grimaced and looked down as more blood continued to leak out onto the snow. Could he do it? Could he just stand up and walk away?

No, he decided. No he absolutely could not. "Bear with this a moment, father." He grumbled, moving himself around to Haytham's other, uninjured side. "This is going to hurt."

He grabbed Haytham's arm and pulled, sliding a hand under his father's back pulling him up into a sitting position. Haytham let out a cry of pain, and twitched against the touch and it almost felt as though he was trying to pull away. Connor grabbed him around the waist and pulled him up harder.

"I know." He growled, frustrated. "Just hold on a while longer."

He pulled his father's hand around his shoulder, and pulled him up onto his back, hooking his hands under Haytham's legs. Haytham let out a strangled cry of pain, and then must have lost consciousness completely, as his head hit Connor's shoulder uselessly. Connor rolled his eyes and pulled him up further, and began to trudge back through the snow, towards his village. Outsiders were absolutely forbidden to set foot inside it, but it wasn't as if Connor had the time to take him to a town, or even the homestead. He grimaced, as he continued to trudge forwards until the village slowly came into view. He noticed several villagers standing outside, Kanen'tó:kon among them, obviously waiting for him to come back and give them the news.

Kanen'tó:kon spotted him first, and the look of worry and horror was not lost on Connor as he bolted forwards. "Ratonhnhaké:ton! What's going on? What happened?"

Connor shook his head. "Please, I need to tend to him."

"Tend to… what happened? Who is that?"

"Its important, Kanen'tó:kon. Please, I'll explain, just help me get him to the long house."

"Ratonhnhaké:ton… you can not bring him…"

"He's my father, Kanen'tó:kon."

Kanen'tó:kon's eyebrows shot up, almost to his hair line. "He is your…?" The question was suddenly forgotten as he walked around, grabbing Haytham by his unharmed shoulder and pulling him down, supporting him. Connor let go of his father's legs, and very carefully propped him up from the waist, careful not to disturb his injured arm. Kanen'tó:kon nodded inside. "Come on."

"Thank you…" Connor breathed, relaxing. He looked back at a few of the other villagers as they ran up to him. "There was a bear who attacked. I fought and killed it, but did not have time to take anything from it. It is back that way, by the cliff."

Hey. Waste not want not. He and Kanen'tó:kon pulled Haytham through the village, which earned them more than their fair share of stares, but Connor was more preoccupied with not dropping his father. They pulled him back to a largely unoccupied long house, or at least it was unoccupied the second they brought in a bleeding outsider. Connor helped Kanen'tó:kon lay Haytham down on a pile of pelts near the fire, and Connor dropped to his knees next to him, breathing heavily.

"I will get some bandages and something to clean it with." Kanen'tó:kon looked down at Haytham for a brief moment before taking off into the village.

Connor looked Haytham up and down. He reached across and grabbed the clasp that kept his father's cape around his neck, and began to fumble with it, before pulling it out from under him. He then looked down at his father's chest, and blinked. Leave it to the British to invent such complicated clothing. "How do you even…?" He grabbed one of the buttons and unfastened it, only to discover it wasn't actually attached to anything, and was just there for show. "Oh for the…" He sighed, resisting the urge to slap a hand over his eyes. "If you die because I cannot get your shirt off, then it will be your own damn fault."

After a few seconds of struggling, and seriously contemplating using his hidden blade to just cut the clothes off, he was finally able to pull the garment off. Only to discover his father wore at least two layers under that. How cold did these people get? Finally, though, after a lot of swearing, and a lot of struggle, all three layers that his father wore over his chest were gone. Just as he was sliding the bloodied clothes out from under his father's back, there was the sound of someone entering the long house. Connor looked back, and Kanen'tó:kon swept into the room holding a bundle of bandages and a large bowl of water.

"Thank you…" Connor tossed the bundle of bloodied clothes off to the side and took one of the clothes, dipped it in the water and then held it to his father's wound.

"The Clan Mother is not going to be happy, Ratonhnhaké:ton."

"I know." Connor moved aside. "Here, hold that there for me, please." As soon as Kanen'tó:kon pressed his hands to his father's shoulder, Connor moved along to his father's side, and reached down and took his hand and pulled it up. He looked down at the bracer and very briefly ran a hand along the broken Assassin symbol that clipped the hidden blade to his arm. He turned his father's hand over and began to unstrap the blade from his arm, pulling it off and setting it aside.

"What are you doing?"

"It will likely make everyone less nervous, if he is not armed." Connor explained, before grabbing hold of the belt that held the sword and pistols to his father's waist and unfastening it and setting it aside.

"That is probably a good idea." His friend consented. "… Your father. How bizarre. What was he doing here?"

"I think he was tracking the soldiers." He looked up. "They weren't looking for us, by the way. Just passing through."

Kanen'tó:kon nodded and looked back down at Haytham. "I see where you get it now."

"Get what?"

"That scowl." Kanen'tó:kon smirked. "Look, he's making it now."

Connor reached over and lightly smacked his friend across the head. "Enough…" He muttered, which only caused Kanen'tó:kon to laugh. Connor set the weapons off to the side, and then moved back to take the cloth from his friend, and lifted it away from the wound. He sighed and put the cloth back. This was not going to be an easy task. He looked to Kanen'tó:kon who reached over and put a hand on his shoulder, reassuringly.

"I will help you, Ratonhnhaké:ton. Just tell me what needs to be done."

"Thank you." Connor looked back and bit his lip. "For now, we should just focus on stopping the bleeding."

* * *

Several hours had passed, and at last, he and Kanen'tó:kon had successfully managed to clean the wound, and stop it from bleeding. They had bandaged it, and carefully cleaned the blood off of the area where he lay, and while they had been doing so, one of the men from the village came in with a bear pelt, presenting it to Connor. It had been his kill after all. Connor carefully lay it over his father, as Kanen'tó:kon collected all of Haytham's weapons and clothes. Connor turned and walked over. "I will take care of that." He held his arms out, and Kanen'tó:kon slowly relinquished the weapons, but not the jacket.

"I will see if we can clean some of the blood from these. Some of the women might want to help."

"Thank you, my friend." Connor spared his father a quick glance. The man showed no signs of waking, despite the pain that was still evident in his features. Connor turned around and followed Kanen'tó:kon out the door and then parted ways to make his way back to his own long house. He pushed the curtain aside with his shoulder, and walked over to his bed, before kneeling down and setting the weapons in a heap besides the pelts.

"Ratonhnhaké:ton."

The voice startled him, and he turned around to see the Clan Mother standing behind him. "Oiá:ner…" He stood up and turned around. "Please, allow me to explain…"

She held up a hand to silence him. "Kanen'tó:kon told me who he was."

Connors eyes shifted to the floor. "I am sorry for bringing him here. However I could not…"

"I understand." She said, quietly, looking him over. "But you must understand this. While he is here, he is your responsibility. And if he presents any danger to this land or our people… You must kill him, yourself."

Connor looked up, and then turned his head away, folding his hands in front of him, and cracking his knuckles nervously. "I understand. Thank you."

"Ratonhnhaké:ton, you must be careful."

"I do not trust him, Oiá:ner. Nor do I even like him. However, he is my father. I couldn't just let him die out there."

"Do you think he would have done the same for you?"

Connor looked up at her, conflict on his face. He thought for a moment, recalling Haytham leaving him after he had saved him from Church's men. Well, Connor had let them get a few good hits in before he had rushed in but still. He lowered his head, and took another great interest with his fingers. "No… I do not think he would."

"Mercy is the mark of a great man, Ratonhnhaké:ton." She placed a hand on his shoulder. "Do not forget that."

With those words, she left. Connor stood there, staring at the weapons that had collected beside his bed, and sighed. He did not have time to think about things like this. Not now. He walked back outside, and made his way back towards the long house his father now lay in. He pushed the curtain aside, and walked in before sitting down in front of the fire, on the side opposite his father.

Haytham continued to sleep, his face had relaxed a bit more as if the pain had receded, but the occasional twitch his body gave off was enough to let Connor know he was still hurting quite a bit. Connor folded his knee to his chest and leaned his arm across it before resting his chin on his knee.

"Would you have saved me?" He muttered, obviously not really expecting a reply. "If it had been my life, would you have just left?" He frowned deeply, and buried his face deeper into his elbow. He watched his father's face a few more minutes, and he shifted in his spot on the floor. "I was scared." He whispered. "I was scared you would die, and I don't know why. Maybe because I think you can still change, or that maybe… I might be important enough for you to…" To what? Denounce the Templars? Reject Charles Lee? Connor groaned and dropped his forehead into the crook of his arm entirely, burying his face against his leg and chest. "I do not know why I am even talking to you when you cannot hear me." He muttered. "Maybe because in reality, I'm scared of what you would answer."

The sun had long since begun to set, and Connor was finally beginning to feel the exhaustion that the day had brought him. It had been a very long day, and he could feel himself very slowly dropping off to sleep. He turned on his side and lay down onto one of the spare pelts that lay on the floor. He turned onto his back and watched some of the snow float down from a few holes on the roof, and then finally, he closed his eyes and was able to sleep.

* * *

Days had passed, and Haytham not once showed any signs of waking up. Connor had not left his side the entire time, though he wasn't sure if it was sentiment that kept him there, or some sort of obligation to see it through to the end. No one had really bothered him, during the few days though Connor had a feeling it was more out of suspicion than it was out of reverence.

He had been rekindling the fire on the third day, stoking it with a stick, when the curtain had opened. Connor looked over and saw Kanen'tó:kon standing there, holding it open with a kind smile on his face. Connor sat up, and had been about to ask what brought him, when the curtain opened a little bit wider, and a small face appeared in the door way. The little girl from days before stood there, shuffling her feet back and forth, with about two other children behind her.

Connor smiled and pushed himself up before walking over and kneeling in front of them. "Yes?"

"Um… Ratonhnhaké:ton… we were wondering…" The little girl played with her fingers nervously, and Connor glanced up at Kanen'tó:kon who just smiled and shook his head.

"What is it, little one?"

"We were wondering, if you would play with us?"

Connor's smile fell. "Oh… I…"

Kanen'tó:kon put a hand on his shoulder. "You have been in here for days, my friend. Come outside for a little while. He will be find for a few minutes." He gestured past Connor towards Haytham. "You are not doing anyone any favors by staying locked away in there."

Connor sighed and looked down at the little girl, who continued to stare up at him with pleading eyes. The other children crowded around her, each giving him their best beseeching faces. Connor sighed and rubbed the back of his head, before letting his hands fall to his side in a consenting gesture. "Alright… I suppose it could not hurt."

The children all gave a cheer, and the little girl grabbed onto his arm, and began to pull him forwards out into the snow. He laughed a little bit, and shook his head as the other children gathered around him. He looked back at Kanen'tó:kon who just shrugged. "Have fun, Ratonhnhaké:ton."

"Where are you going?"

"Hunting." Kanen'tó:kon gave him a winking smile, and then turned to leave. Connor sighed and looked down at the children, who had gathered around him.

"Very well then, what shall we play?"

"We should pretend to be hunters!" One of the boys yelling, grabbing up a stick.

"Hunters?" Connor folded his arms and a sly grin passed over his face. "Well I'm not sure you can handle it."

"What? We can!" Another boy gasped, indignantly.

"Hm, no I don't think so."

"Why not?" The girl frowned, looking upset.

"Because you did not stop that wolf from getting into the village."

All the children turned around simultaneously, gasping. "What wolf?!" One of the boys cried taking a step backwards.

"This wolf." Connor reached down and grabbed him, picking him up. The boy shrieked suddenly, and the other children laughed, as Connor lifted him up over his head. In an instant they were all over him, jumping, and grabbing at him, trying to bring him down onto the ground. He laughed and grabbed at them, as they continued to tumble in the snow.

He wasn't quite sure how long he had been playing like that, but it all came to a grinding halt when one of the children reached up and grabbed his sleeve, and yanked on it as hard as he could. He stopped, as he had been reaching for one of the boys who was scampering away from him and looked over. The child was white as a sheet, and clinging to Connor's leg, and for a moment he wondered if a wolf actually had wandered into the village, going by the boy's expression. Finally the boy raised a hand, and pointed backwards.

Connor stood up and turned around, and as soon as he did, the smile was gone from his face. There, standing in the doorway with a bear pelt wrapped around his shoulders, was Haytham Kenway. He was looking stupefied, and very confused, and there was a great deal of blood seeping through the bandages around his shoulders. Their eyes met for a brief second, and father and son stared at one another. Haytham straightened himself up, and continued to match Connor's stare.

Connor would never in a million years, admit to himself, or to anyone else, just how relieved he felt at seeing his father standing upright, and looking very much alive.

He finally managed to tear his eyes away from his father, and looked down at the children around his feet. "Go on, now." He said, pointing off into the village again. "I'll come play with you again later."

The children were all too happy to comply, taking off running , leaving Connor to turn and look over at his father once again. He slowly managed to make his legs move him forwards and he walked up to his father, who was still standing there, looking anesthetized. For what felt like ages, his words failed him, but finally he was able to speak.

"You are awake." He had to quietly remind himself to speak English.

Haytham looked over, looking startled. "Am I? I thought perhaps I might be dreaming."

Connor felt himself smile, if only a little. He shook his head, and looked after the children and then back to this father. How was it that his father could wake up after having nearly been killed by a bear acting so shockingly cavalier? Though Connor supposed he should have expected it. His smile flickered for a moment, before leaving his face and he looked around. It was a strange, large, and even sometimes twisted family he had. But he found, more often than not, he wouldn't trade it for anything.

* * *

**(Okay, so this one isn't so much a 'father son' drabble, but a 'son' drabble with momentary interruptions of 'father-ness'. It still counts, right? Right? I dunno. Maybe next time we'll see if Haytham would save his son if he had to. **

**Also, a lot of you really want me to write about Haytham giving Connor the talk. And believe me, I tried. I tried to write it. I really honest to god tried, but I just could not get it to be in character. I'll keep trying, but... we'll see how it goes.)**


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